A Siren's Song
by Make It Out Alive
Summary: The Triwizard Tournament is over, but things have not gotten easier for Demetria. Her powers are coming in, which seems impossible enough as is, but she also must cope with the loss of a loved one while her family relationship is strained. And yet, she still manages to fall in love . . . again? (Book II of Behind Enemy Lines)
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

:.:.:

The rain poured down in glistening sheets, a hooded, disheveled man making his way across the slippery cobblestone pathway. He cautiously tread through minor puddles in order to reach the front door of Harris Manor, pulling his long cloak tighter against his body. The man entered the home and was greeted by two, identically hooded figures standing in the drawing room. They gestured, simultaneously, to a black cloaked figure in front of them, and the man took cautious steps toward it.

"So nice of you to join us, Severus," issued from the figure as he swished around, light black cloak dancing around with him. His red irises carefully watched the man's cold black eyes fill with not even the slightest amount of fear. At this, the figure twisted his lips into a devilish smile. With slits for nostrils and a face possessing serpentine features, Lord Voldemort stood before his servants.

The man obeyed his master's wishes and backed up to stand in between the other two.

"My apologies, master," said Severus Snape, removing his hood.

Voldemort ignored this and spoke to the other two Death Eaters. "Perhaps one of you would be so kind as to fill in our dear friend," he said apathetically.

The two Death Eaters on each side of the other, nodded before all slowly pushing their own hoods back, revealing them to be Antonin Dolohov and Carlisle Harris.

"It seems my granddaughter has proven to be a bit of a thorn in our side," said Harris matter-of-factly.

"How so?" Snape inquired.

"Do you recall what happened when one of us attempted to give her mother the Mark?" said Dolohov, careful not to reveal to Harris the name of which Death Eater had done it.

"Her Light would not allow it," said Snape airily.

"Precisely," said Dolohov bitterly, "and neither would Demetria's."

"I am thankful now, that I did not kill her that night in the graveyard," Voldemort spoke coolly, his lipless mouth twisted into a sinister grin. "Having a Lumen on our side will prove to be quite useful."

"Is it even possible to bring her to our side, My Lord?" Snape questioned.

"I believe there is a way it can be done," he replied, wickedly. "Carlisle, tell Severus what you revealed to us just moments ago."

"I remembered a prophecy made about Demetria," Harris explained. "I had not been there, at the time, to witness it for myself, but my son was. He told me the Seer spoke of Demetria having a great deal of power, and that this power could be harnessed, and used for either good or evil. He said the Seer referred to Demetria as some sort of weapon — a catalyst."

"We believe the Prophecy Record may have more details," said Dolohov, "and so, we will need to retrieve both Demetria's _and_ Harry Potter's."

Although Snape had heard part of the prophecy made about Harry Potter, he was not able to hear the whole thing; he knew Voldemort wanted that Prophecy Record for that reason, as well.

"Demetria Harris will bend to my will," said Voldemort, his words coiling around his servants like a true snake. "She has defied me once before, but soon, she will not be able to resist," He quickly brought himself back to reality. "Does Albus Dumbledore know of this prophecy?"

"I do not believe so," Snape replied. "He has never spoken of it."

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, red eyes glinting wickedly, as he spoke again in his cold voice.

"All the better."


	2. Chapter 1: What'd I Miss?

_**Chapter One**_

 _What'd I Miss_

:.:.:

"Son of a — !"

"Demetria!" shrieked Mrs. Weasley.

I was holding a letter I'd just received in my hands, jaw practically touching the floor.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, laughing a bit at Mrs. Weasley's scolding.

"Finn's not going back to Durmstrang!" I said, outraged.

"So what?" said Fred, who'd just walked in.

"Neither are you," George said, strolling in right after.

Allow me to explain: Although the plan had been for me to move into Remus's home and visit the Burrow at some point over the summer, Dumbledore had other plans for us. I _did_ stay with Remus for a while, but I never made it to the Burrow. Instead, Remus, the Weasleys, and I were staying with Sirius at his childhood home — if you could even call it his _home_ — now-turned Order of the Phoenix headquarters — 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Demetria, you've decided to transfer to Hogwarts?" came Hermione gleefully, she and Ron entering the kitchen then, as well.

"I haven't decided anything yet!" I said, still rather frustrated. "Fred and George are just tosspots."

"Where's Finn going, then?" said Fred, although it seemed as though he already knew the answer.

I grumbled the answer very quietly and begrudgingly.

"What was that?" George smirked, cupping a hand around his ear.

"Hogwarts!" I shouted directly into it; everyone laughed.

"Ow!" — Well, everyone except George — "Son of a — !"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"Did he say why?" Ron inquired with a trace of a smile from chuckling.

"His younger brother is finally starting school, and it was going to be at Durmstrang but Finn's mum changed her mind and thinks Hogwarts would be a better fit," I explained. "She wants Finn to transfer so he can look out for Callum."

"Now you've got nothing keeping you at Durmstrang!" said Fred brightly.

"Nothing except the wishes of my grandad..." I said, voice sad and distant.

I hadn't thought about him in at least a week, which was actually a new record for me as of lately . . . Cedric and Grandad . . . one was gone, the other was as good as.

I noticed Fred and George exchange a look before approaching me, hands outstretched to do what they always did when I thought back on my boyfriend — er, _ex_ -boyfriend — or grandfather — tickle me.

"No, not this time!" I told them. "I'm not just going to forget about them!"

"Them?" Ron parroted; Hermione nudged him. "Oh, Cedri —" She nudged him again and he stopped talking.

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

"I'm going to go make Remus's Wolfsbane Potion," I said quietly.

I'd learned Remus was a werewolf before I found out he was my godfather, and lucky for him, I was a rather excellent potioneer. Wolfsbane was a rather advanced potion, but I was able to brew it for Remus, and although it didn't cure his lycanthropy symptoms, it certainly helped to relieve them.

"We'll come with you!" George offered.

"Yeah," Fred agreed, "let you know how your's and Harry's investment is going."

I found out Harry had also given his half of the Triwizard winnings to Fred and George for their joke shop.

"I'd rather just be alone," I told them, and left.

:.:.:

"Maybe you'd better check on her," Fred suggested quietly.

He, George, and Ginny were on the staircase landing, using Extendable Ears to try and hear what was being discussed inside the kitchen.

"Why me?" said George.

"You're worried about her," said Fred as though it were obvious, which it was to him.

"Yeah so? Aren't you?" his twin challenged.

"'Course," Fred admitted, "but I'm still able to focus."

"I'm able to focus," George assured him.

"Oh really? What did Sirius just say?"

"I can't even hear what he just said," Ginny whispered fiercely.

"You can't hear much anyway," said George, putting down his Extendable Ear in defeat.

"I can't believe you still fancy her, mate," said Fred, smirking.

"Demetria?" Ginny perked up, then, and also put down her Extendable Ear.

"Whatever, s'nothing," George insisted, ears reddening.

"Of course it's something!" Fred said fervently, though keeping his voice down. "Demetria's single now!"

"Yeah, 'cause her..." George made a conscience effort to lower his voice in case Demetria — or anyone — overheard. "...boyfriend _died_!"

"You just have to give her time," Fred told him. "But until then, there's no harm in getting close with her! That way, she starts seeing you differently, and then before you know it — she's ready, you two get together, I'm best man at the wedding!"

"Fred —"

"And I'm the maid of honor!" Ginny gushed.

"I reckon I should start on my toast now!"

"She's not interested in me," George said exasperatedly. "She's already made that quite clear."

"Patience, Georgie," he said, "trust me. Now get in there, help her with the potion. Nothing says romance like brewing a potentially dangerous potion!"

But just as George was about to go to the room Demetria shared with Hermione and Ginny, he heard something else that distracted him.

:.:.:

"So you haven't been in the meetings, big deal! You've still been here, haven't you?! You've still been together!"

I'd just finished the Wolfsbane Potion when I heard someone shouting. It sounded like . . . Harry?

"Me, I've been stuck at the Dursleys' for a month!"

Yep, definitely Harry...

"And I've handled more than you two've ever managed and Dumbledore knows it — Who saved the Sorcerer's Stone?! Who got rid of Riddle?! Who saved both your skins from the dementors?!"

I'd poked my head out from behind my door and found George standing at the bottom of the second staircase, listening as well. We exchanged rather confused expressions before Fred appeared too.

"Who had to get past dragons and sphinxes and every other foul thing last year?! Who saw him come back?! Who had to escape from him?! Me!"

It sounded like it was coming from Ron's room. I guessed it was also safe to assume the Advance Guard had returned safely with Harry...

"But why should I know what's going on?! Why should anyone bother to tell me what's been happening?!"

I was really trying my hardest not to burst through the door, then, because it had been words just like that that made me blow up at Harry just a few months ago. He was always so concerned about knowing absolutely every detail about every little thing. Dumbledore had given Ron, Hermione, and I clear instructions not to reveal anything to Harry until the time was right, but that wasn't good enough.

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did —" I heard Hermione begin, sounding on the verge of tears.

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT _DUMBLEDORE_ MADE YOU SWEAR —"

I began marching right for the door, but Fred and George lifted me from either side and brought me into the stairwell.

"He shouldn't be talking to them like that!" I said. "Who the hell does he think he is?! Dumbledore's got his reasons!"

As soon as my feet touched the ground, I made a move for the door again, but they pulled me back.

"It's best not to get involved, Dem," said Fred.

"Harry'll come to his senses," George agreed. "He's just frustrated. Hell, you'd probably be screaming at your mates if you were in his position."

Sometimes I hated how well he knew me . . . But I didn't want to agree, so I just said nothing and continued listening, but no more shouts could be detected from the next room.

"Ah, see," said Fred, "the rainbow after the storm!"

"Yes, now we can _pop_ in!" said George, and I knew exactly what that meant.

With two loud cracks, Fred and George had disappeared out of thin air; I rolled my eyes. They'd finally learned to Apparate, and had been doing it _all the sodding time_. I left the stairwell and entered Ron's room like a normal person.

"Stop _doing_ that!" I'd heard Hermione say upon entering.

"They're too good for doors now, 'Mione," I said in jest, leaning in the threshold.

"Good to see you again, Demetria," said Harry with a small smile; it was probably the best he could manage at the moment.

"You too, Harry."

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?" asked Harry grumpily.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-colored string — one of their inventions, called an Extendable Ear.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, holding up the string, which was trailing out onto the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the ear. "If Mum sees one of them again..."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred.

Ginny appeared in the doorway next to me, then.

"Oh hello, Harry!" she said brightly. "I thought I heard your voice."

Turning to Fred and George she said, "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaved a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what Snape's been up to."

"Snape?" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, ushering Ginny and I inside before carefully closing the door, and sitting down on one of the beds. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him from being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us . . ."

"He's not like that with everyone," I said, thinking of my own encounters with Snape . . . the good ones.

"Bill doesn't like him either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

"Is Bill here?" Harry asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt."

"He's applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred.

"And also, apparently, so he could give Demetria, here, some career advice," George said, smirking at me.

"Noticed that, did you?" I said.

I wasn't trying to make a big deal out of it . . . I knew that the twins knew I'd been dead-set on becoming a professional Quidditch player like my father, and I still wanted to, certainly, but I also knew it would make Grandad happy if I had a backup of some sort, or — as he would've called it — a real job.

"He says he misses the tombs, but," Fred began smirking like his brother. "there are compensations . . ."

Harry appeared taken aback.

"Bill and Demetria..?"

Everyone in the room was displaying a reaction either of disturbance or amusement.

"Harry, he's ten years my senior," I said, giving a strange mix of both reactions.

"And even so, I'd still prefer to see that," said Ginny, annoyed.

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" George asked Harry, seeing that he was about to inquire. "She's got a job at Gringotts to _eemprove 'er Eeenglish_ —"

"— and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred.

"Charlie's in the Order too," said George, "but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked.

The atmosphere of the room shifted drastically. I was exchanging darkly significant glances with Hermione and the Weasleys.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," Ginny added sadly.

"I think we're well shut of him," said George with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry inquired.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred.

"If _that_ isn't the understatement of the century..." I said darkly.

"She's right," George agreed. "It's normally Mum who shouts..."

"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry.

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain..."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron. "He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," George said.

"Dumbledore's name's mud with the Ministry these days, see," Fred explained.

"They all think he's just trying to cause trouble by saying Voldemort's back," I spat.

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George. "Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession —"

"But what's that got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore."

Harry let out a low whistle.

"But Percy loved that."

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.

"He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —"

" _What_?" said Harry in disbelief.

"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, and that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

I actually heard Harry swear, for the first time, under his breath.

"Mum's been in a right state," Ron continued. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy _must_ know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof —"

"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and . . . I dunno . . . he didn't think it was good enough."

"Well what about — ?"

"He didn't believe me either," I told Harry when he looked at me.

"Percy takes the _Daily Prophet_ seriously," said Hermione tartly.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking around at all of us then.

"Haven't — haven't you been getting the _Daily Prophet_?" Hermione nervously inquired.

"Yeah, I have!"

"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione still spoke anxiously.

"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it!"

I shook my head. He hadn't seen what they'd been writing about him . . . about us . . .

"We're not on the front page, Harry," I stepped in because I knew Hermione would just beat around the bush. "No big articles. They just slip us in, like a standing joke."

"What d'you — ?"

"Although Rita Skeeter isn't writing for them anymore," I began, and couldn't help but grin briefly at Hermione, "she did lay the foundation for them. Because of your collapses and scar hurting and my...visions, the _Prophet_ 's painted us as deluded, attention-seekers. Apparently, you think yourself a tragic hero, and I wish that I was one."

"They keep slipping in snide comments about you two," Hermione jumped in, speaking rather quickly. "If some far-fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Demetria Harris' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's 'let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next —"

"I don't want anyone to worship —" Harry began hotly.

"I know you don't," Hermione assured him, looking frightened. "I _know_ , Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"I didn't ask — I didn't want — _Voldemort killed my parents_!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family —"

"Harry, we know," I said earnestly. "You don't have to defend yourself to us."

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy — we thought they would, it would tie in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off — we think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town — I mean, _if_ you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily, "you really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."

I'd heard about Harry being attacked by dementors in his aunt and uncle's Muggle neighborhood, _and_ how he'd used magic outside of school to defend himself. I would've done the same thing; I reckon anyone would've.

We all heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Uh-oh."

Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly, as she blamed Hermione's cat. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, "I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please..."

Kreacher, the Blacks' house-elf, made me miss my own house-elf Tinker more than I already did. He wasn't at all pleasant.

Ginny grimaced at us and followed her mother out of the room; I glanced between the Golden Trio and thought that was also my cue to leave, so I did. And though I was about to make my way down the stairs, Fred and George Apparated behind me, grabbed me, and Apparated to the landing above.

"You two've _got_ to stop with that!" I said exasperatedly.

But they ignored my comment, and spoke rather seriously.

"You really should come to Hogwarts," said George sincerely.

"Even Dumbledore said it would be easier if you transferred," Fred reminded me.

I'd told the twins about my Lumen lessons and how Dumbledore was helping me find someone to control my powers, although they hadn't quite come in yet. But even so — and even though literally all of my mates were leaving Durmstrang — part of me wanted to hold on to the last connection with Grandad that I had . . . although, another part of me wanted to go back to Hogwarts, to attend school where my parents went . . .

"Tell you what," said George, noticing I was clearly deep in thought over it, "you sleep on it. There's still no rush, after all."

Dumbledore told me to let him know my decision one way or the other by the last week of August.

"I'll really consider it," I told them.

"Ace," said Fred before smirking. "Now, on to more pressing matters..."

He began lowering the Extendable Ear's flesh-colored string over the landing, toward the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they began to move toward the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Fred whispered, hoisting the Extendable Ear back up again.

Just as the three of us began making our way down the stairs for dinner, there came a thunderous crash.

" _Tonks_!" cried Mrs. Weasley exasperatedly.

Tonks — Nymphadora Tonks, to be exact — was a Metamorphmagus and member of the Order whom I'd only just recently met, and though she was known to be incredibly enthusiastic and bubbly, she and I got along rather well.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Tonks; she was also incredibly clumsy. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over —"

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, earsplitting, bloodcurdling screech, which we'd all had the displeasure of hearing multiple times before. The moth-eaten velvet curtains hiding Walburga Black began to flap about from her shouting again. The old woman was drooling, her eyes rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed. Remus and Mrs. Weasley darted forward to try and tug the curtains shut, but they would not close as she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, traitors, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —"

Tonks apologized over and over again, at the same time dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg umbrella stand back off the floor. Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits who'd woken up and were yelling as well. Then Sirius came charging out.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned.

Walburga Black's face blanched.

"Yoooou!" she howled, eyes popping at the sight of Sirius. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said — shut — UP!" Sirius roared again, and with a stupendous effort he and Remus managed to force the curtains closed again.

Finally, her screeches died and an echoing silence fell.

Panting slightly and sweeping his long black hair out of his eyes, Sirius turned to face Harry.

"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."

"Pleasant old woman, isn't she?" I said, smirking.

"Oh yeah," Fred sarcastically agreed, "a real peach, that one."

Sirius gave a laugh.

"We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas," he explained to Harry. "Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again."

We all descended a flight of narrow stone steps and through the door leading into the basement kitchen. It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes (thanks to Mundungus Fletcher and his pipe), through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Mr. Weasley and Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the long wooden table.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, the two men looking around then and jumping to their feet.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called, hastily rolling up lengths of parchment left on the table. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. "Oh no — _sorry_ —"

I mentioned Tonks was clumsy, right?

Mrs. Weasley repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand and stuffed it into Bill's heavily laden arms.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped before sweeping off toward an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered " _Evanesco!_ " and the scrolls vanished.

"Demetria," he said, catching sight of me. "I was just thinking, does Durmstrang offer a class about Arithmancy — or Ancient Runes? That one's not a requirement, but it certainly comes in handy."

"Yeah, they've got both," I said. "I'm actually already taking Arithmancy, and I'm sure my schedule's got room for Ancient Runes."

"You know what other school offers those classes?" said George with that mischevious lopsided grin.

" _And_ has all of your dearest friends?" Fred joined in.

"Boys, leave Demetria alone and come help set the table," said Mrs. Weasley; I flashed her a thankful smile.

Bill continued to talk to me about necessary classes and which O.W.L.s I should be focusing on, but he also brought up his own time at Hogwarts and told a particularly funny instance that happened to him in the green house during an Herbology lesson. I bursted with laughter — something that was hard to come by as of lately — and I guess George didn't like that very much.

"Bill, Mum wants you to help too," he said rather bitterly.

Bill was confused because Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to be paying attention at all, but he still excused himself from our conversation and got up to help.

I looked over to George, but he was avoiding my gaze. Did he honestly think there was something going on between myself and his eldest brother...?

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley suddenly shrieked.

Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with a knife, to hurtle through the air toward them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, and the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Mrs. Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

Then again, Bill _was_ far more mature than the twins...

...Oh, relax, it was just a joke. I, honestly, wasn't even thinking about dating at all . . . it wasn't the best time . . .

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward and wrenching the bread knife out of the table. "Sorry, Sirius, mate — didn't mean to —"

But Sirius and Harry were both laughing. Mundungus, who had toppled backward off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet. Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser. Hermione and I were not as amused.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age —"

"— none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't Charm everything he met! And Percy —"

 _Oh shite_ , I thought.

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," said Remus, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Bill went to reclaim his seat next to mine, but George slipped in before he could; Fred occupied the seat on my other side.

"I take it you're not giving up, then?" I whispered to George.

It hadn't exactly been a secret that he had feelings for me since . . . well, probably around the time he first met me . . . but I wasn't entirely sure what his game was, though I knew I didn't like it.

"What — ?"

"Cedric _just_ died, George," I told him coldly...and I felt bad. Not for how I'd spoken to him, but because I felt so detached from the words I was saying. I mean, I didn't exactly want to cry every time I spoke of Cedric, but I was starting to feel guilty that I was growing . . . used to it . . .

George didn't speak to me for the remainder of dinner.

Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later and everyone was feeling rather stuffed in a lull in the general conversation. Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity one associated with the arrival of dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. I noticed a frission had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name, though it didn't affect me, of course. Remus, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so —"

"And they're quite right," said Mrs. Weasley. "You're too young."

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen —"

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

" _We've_ been trying to get some answers of our own for a month now, and no one's told us a single thing!" I agreed.

"' _You're too young, you're not in the Order,_ '" said Fred in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry and Demetria, on the other hand —"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry and Demetria!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kind face looked dangerous.

"If I may, Molly," Remus began, matching Sirius's calmness, "Demetria is my responsibility and I agree with Sirius." I grinned down the table at my godfather.

"Very well," Mrs. Weasley said reluctantly before focusing back on Sirius. "But you haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he _needs to know_ ," she said, placing heavy emphasis on the last three words.

I knew that was sure to light a fire under Harry. If there was one thing I knew he couldn't stand, it was being left in the dark.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he _needs to know_ , Molly," said Sirius. "But as he was one of the two in this room who saw Voldemort come back, he has more right than most to —"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and —"

"— and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," Sirius challenged, "and more than some —"

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still —"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently. "Neither is Demetria! She shouldn't have to —"

"They're not adults either!" argued Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. "They're not _James_ and _Lucy_ , Sirius!"

For a split second, I thought Mrs. Weasley had screwed up Harry's mum's name — Lily — until I realized she meant what she said; she meant Sirius thought I was my mother.

"I'm perfectly clear who they are, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about Harry, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are _not_ your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "And Demetria — At least _Remus_ knows who she is! Sirius, you think she's your old flame!"

"What?!" I choked out, caught completely off-guard.

"Just one big class reunion, isn't it?!" Mrs. Weasley pressed on. "You, James, and Lucy! Except they're still at school and you've been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley, rounding to her husband. "Arthur, back me up!"

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. I seized this opportunity to, quietly as I could, direct a question to Remus, although he wasn't seated near me.

"Sirius dated my mother?!"

Mrs. Weasley answered instead, still sounding indignant, though her volume had lowered.

"Oh no, dear, but he wanted to."

It seemed when I'd first met Sirius and he told me everything about my parents, there were some details he left out . . .

Finally, Mr. Weasley had replaced his glasses carefully on his nose and spoke. "Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that he is staying at headquarters —"

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!"

"Personally," said Remus quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, probably hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, "I think it better that Harry gets the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others."

"Can I take this to mean that Demetria already knows?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"No one's told me anything," I said rather bitterly, looking to both Remus and Sirius. And although Mrs. Weasley understood that I meant they hadn't mentioned the Order's plans, I knew that they knew I also meant neither one of them told me about Sirius and my mother. They avoided my gaze.

"Well," she said, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well . . . I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry's best interests at heart —"

"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes, the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

"Your mum's merciless," I whispered to Fred.

"You've no idea," he told me with absolutely no trace of a smirk on his face.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Remus sharply. "Sirius, sit _down_."

I hadn't noticed Sirius rise from his chair, but he sank slowly back into it, his face white. Mrs. Weasley's lip was trembling.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Remus continued. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once.

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. "And Demetria as well?"

I loved Mrs. Weasley, I did, but when she looked to Remus before me for confirmation, I couldn't help but grow a bit angry with her.

"Ginny — Ron — Hermione — Fred — George — I want you out of this kitchen, now," she continued.

There was an instant uproar.

"We're of age!" the twins bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I _want_ to!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. "I absolutely forbid —"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "They _are_ of age —"

"They're still at school —"

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr. Weasley in the same tired voice.

"And Demetria'll tell us everything anyhow," said Fred confidently. He was probably right about that.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face and I was careful to avoid her gaze in case she was shooting daggers at me.

"I — oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything too!" said Ron hotly. "Won't — won't you?" he added to Harry uncertainly.

"'Course I will," Harry said. Ron and Hermione beamed.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, at wit's end. "Fine! Ginny — BED!"

Ginny did not go quietly. We could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black's earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Remus hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. I followed him.

"Why didn't either of you tell me about Sirius and my mum?" I demanded, though calmly.

"Demetria, now isn't the best —"

"Filthy half-breed! Mutated traitor! Both of you — disgusting vermon!" Sirius's mother shrieked at Remus and I; I did my best to help him shut the curtains.

"Why was it kept a big secret?!" I raised my voice in order to be heard over the old woman. "I spent my whole life that way! What're you trying to cover something up too?!"

I knew it was stupid to wonder, but I was suddenly so paranoid that Sirius could actually be my birth father . . . But I immediately dismissed the idea. I knew my eyes and Quidditch talents came from my father, Aiden Harris.

That was when we successfully shut Walburga Black behind the curtain.

"Demetria, neither of us mentioned it because it was so insignificant," Remus admitted. "Sirius had a bit of a crush on your mother, but she was never interested. He pursued her for a while until she found Aiden, and he left it be."

"That doesn't mean he stopped wanting her..." I said quietly.

"Please trust me," he said softly. "Sirius never wanted to break up your parents. He was so happy for them that they found each other, and he moved on. All right?"

"All right," I said as we started making our way back down to the kitchen. "Oh, one more thing: if you were fine with me knowing the Order's plans, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Are you kidding? And risk Molly digging into me like she just did Sirius?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, although any trace of laughter disappeared from me as soon as we reentered the kitchen. I'd nearly forgotten what we were about to discuss, and it seemed everyone had waited for us.

"Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?" said Sirius when Remus and I returned to our seats.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle's news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything —"

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," said Sirius, "not as far as we know, anyway . . . And we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do anyway," said Remus.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked.

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment," said Sirius. "It would be quite dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," said Remus with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry asked perplexedly.

"You weren't supposed to survive!" said Sirius. "Nobody apart from his Death Eaters were supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness — you _and_ Demetria!"

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore," said Remus. "And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?" Harry asked.

"Are you kidding?" said Bill incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"So what's the Order been doing?" inquired Harry.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," he replied.

"How d'you know what his plans are?"

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Remus, "and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," said Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," said Remus.

"How?"

Harry was certainly quick with his questions.

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because of the Ministry's attitude," said Tonks. "You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why?" said Harry desperately. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore —"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. " _Dumbledore_."

"Fudge is frightened of him, you see," said Tonks sadly.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," said Mr. Weasley. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want —"

"Of course he doesn't," he said. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is," said Remus, "a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of the Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice. But it seems that he's become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" said Harry angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that Demetria would — that _I_ would?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him."

"You see the problem," said Remus. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the _Daily Prophet_ not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumor-mongering, so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware that anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" said Harry, looking around at the Order members. "You're letting people know he's back?"

They all smiled humorlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass murderer and the Ministry's put a ten-thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handling out leaflets, can I?" said Sirius restlessly.

"Ten-thousand Galleons?" Fred muttered across me to George.

"We should've just turned in Sirius to get the joke shop money," his twin teased.

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," said Remus. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," said Sirius, "and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though," said Mr. Weasley. "Tonks here, for one — she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset too. He's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you's putting the news out that Voldemort's back —" Harry began.

"Who said none of us was putting the news out?" said Sirius. "Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"

"What d'you mean?"

"They're trying to discredit him," said Remus. "Didn't you see the _Daily Prophet_ last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that's the Wizard High Court — and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards," said Bill, grinning. I released a breath of laughter at that; George scowled.

"It's no laughing matter," said Mr. Weasley shortly, although he was looking at Bill, not me. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" asked Harry desperately.

"Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry," said Sirius. "He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He's well-practiced at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in, he's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on them at the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asked swiftly.

Sirius and Remus exchanged the most fleeting of looks before Sirius said, "Stuff he can only get by stealth. Something he didn't have last time. Like a weapon — two, actually."

" _Sirius_ ," warned Mrs. Weasley. I hadn't even noticed her return from taking Ginny upstairs.

"What if we only tell Demetria this part, then?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Hermione all voiced their outrage.

"What — This is about me too?" I said incredulously.

"Only what they _need to know_ ," Mrs. Weasley reminded Sirius.

"Molly, this concerns Demetria's Light," he said carefully.

"That's enough," she said finitely. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious. "I want you in bed, now. All of you."

"You can't boss us —" Fred began.

"Watch me," she snarled. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. "You've given them plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct the two of them into the Order straightaway."

"Why not?" said Harry quickly. I, on the other hand, remained silent, trying to figure out what my Light could possibly have to do with Voldemort.

"I'll join," Harry continued, "I want to join, I want to fight —"

"No."

It was not Mrs. Weasley who spoke this time, but Remus.

"The Order is comprised only of overage wizards," he said. "Wizards who have left school," he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. "There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you . . . I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough."

Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Hermione. One by one they stood up until Harry and I recognized defeat and followed suit. I found George waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "And I know this is just about the millionth time I've had to apologize to you for something, and I know I keep screwing everything up — I dunno what I was thinking back there, but I certainly did not, in any way, mean — I mean, I know it's too soon and — It was inappropriate of me to —"

"Take a breath, George, I forgive you," I assured him.

And he actually did take a deep breath, a sigh of relief.

"But this _does_ keep happening," I said, more-so to myself.

"What? No — Dem, it'll be fine from now on," said George, looking anxious again.

"George, you were right the first time," I decided. "I reckon you need time away from me to get over me."

He looked devastated, and it hurt me to know that I was the one who caused him to feel that way.

"I should . . . get over you?" he parroted. "As in — you don't reckon you'll _ever_ feel for me . . . what I feel for you?"

Honestly, I had no idea if that was the case. All I did know was that it wasn't even something I could wrap my brain around at the moment. Cedric had taken a part of me with him . . . I wasn't sure how long it would be until I got it back . . .

"I just . . . I don't want you to wait for me," I told him earnestly. "I dunno _what_ I'm feeling and . . . if it never happens, I'll just feel awful that you waited around for me —"

"No, yeah, that makes sense," said George, although he clearly just wanted the conversation to be over. "I guess I'll see you around then. 'Night, Demetria."

"George, I'm sorry," I whispered urgently, so as not to wake up any of the portraits. "Please, I just don't want to hurt you."

He simply nodded sadly and turned, making his way up the stairs, leaving me to feel awful for doing, what I'd thought, was the right thing.


	3. Chapter 2: The Decision

_**Chapter Two**_

 _The Decision_

:.:.:

By the next morning, I no longer had any idea what the right thing to do about George was. After all, we'd already tried staying apart, and it didn't seem to benefit anyone; I really missed him. And things were certainly far more awkward this time around, being that we were currently living in the same house. There was absolutely no where to run off to, and absolutely no _one_ to run off to. Everyone sort of had a person or two with whom they felt comfortable enough to spend their days. That's right — the noble and most ancient House of Black had cliques.

I'd been spending nearly every second of every day with the twins, but that was no longer an option. There were times throughout the days when I'd share a conversation or two with Remus, Sirius, or Bill, but it would've been sort of weird to stick to their side for an entire day. I supposed there was always the Golden Trio, but their group was a hard one to crack . . . so I stayed with Ginny . . . until Mrs. Weasley asked all of us to join her in the drawing room to rid the house of doxies.

The drawing room was a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. Ginny, Harry, Ron, and I entered to find Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and the twins grouped around them, all looking rather peculiar, as they had tied cloths over their noses and mouths. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

"Cover your faces and take a spray," Mrs. Weasley said to the rest of us. "It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad — _what_ this house-elf's been doing for the last ten years —"

"Kreacher's really old," Hermione immediately defended, "he probably can't manage —"

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Harry's inquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway . . . this writing desk . . ."

He dropped the bag of rats onto an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart," he said, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs. Weasley.

They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told everyone quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.

The loud, clanging doorbell sounded, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails from the portraits.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly. "Demetria, I'd like to speak with you when you get the chance," he added before hurrying out of the room. We heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: "Stains of dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth. . ."

"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley.

But, of course, Harry took his time in doing so, lingering in the threshold, probably hoping to hear what was being discussed. But finally, he closed the drawing room door and rejoined the rest of us.

Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxies in _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_ , which was lying open on the sofa.

"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxies bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it."

She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains, and beckoned us all forward.

"When I say the word, start spraying immediately," she said. "They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyze them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket."

She stepped carefully out of our line of fire and raised her own spray. "All right — _squirt_!"

We all began spraying like mad as the disgusting creatures known as doxies started flying at us with their shiny beetlelike wings.

"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"

I looked and saw Fred holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

"Right-o," he said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.

"We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes," I heard George tell Harry under his breath.

"What are Skiving Snackboxes?" Harry muttered.

I kept my eyes focused ahead on the doxies, spraying a particularly foul-looking one as it soared straight for me.

"Range of sweets to make you ill," George whispered. "Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, color-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half —"

"'— which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.' That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway," whispered Fred. "Demetria helped us come up with it."

I pretended not to be paying attention. Although, even if I'd wanted to join in the conversation, George began speaking right after Fred, probably so as not to invite me in.

"But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping puking long enough to swallow the purple end."

"Testers?" Harry inquired.

"Us," said Fred. "We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies — we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat — we even got Demetria to try a —"

"Mum thought we'd been dueling," George cut in.

"What is with you today, mate?" Fred asked.

And I hadn't heard George give a reply, so he either looked at me or Fred simply just figured it out.

"No!" he exclaimed. "Not this again!"

"Fred, it's really all ri — OW!"

I immediately whipped around and saw a fully grown doxy attached to George's arm by its tiny needle-sharp teeth. I blasted it with Doxycide and ran to retrieve the antidote.

"What's happened?" said Mrs. Weasley, her tone anxious.

"Miserable bugger snuck up on me," said George as I quickly handed him the bottle of antidote; he took it. "Thanks, Tri."

"Ah, good, a peace offering!" said Fred, still spraying the remaining doxies. "So everyone's friends again?"

"Who wasn't friends?" Ron asked.

"George, are you all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked, rushing over.

"Can we just focus on the doxies?!" said George exasperatedly.

And so everyone did. The de-doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs. Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying; unconscious doxies lay crammed in the bucket beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing.

"All right, now don't tell me you two are back at this bollocks again," said Fred.

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.

The clanging doorbell rang again.

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Black's screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her, and at once, everyone dashed over to the window. Well, everyone except George and I; Fred had pulled us back.

"Not so fast!" he said. "George, you're ignoring Demetria again?"

"No, he's not," I defended. "This is my fault. I told George he should take some time away so he could get over me."

"Oh! Well then we haven't got a problem!" Fred insisted, laughing a bit.

"Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley," Ron muttered from the door. "Can't hear properly . . . d'you reckon we can use the Extendable Ears?"

"Might be worth it," said George. "I could sneak —"

"Whoa, hang on a second!" I said. "Why haven't we got a problem?"

But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of us could hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"

"I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else," said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face. Ron had opened the door about an inch or so to allow Mrs. Weasley's voice to permeate the room better. "It makes such a nice change."

"— COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE —"

"The idiots are letting her get into her stride," said George, shaking his head. "You've got to head her off early, otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry — and there goes Sirius's mum again —"

Mrs. Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall.

"Fred, will you please explain — ?"

"Georgie's well on his way to getting over you, Dem," said Fred.

And though it hadn't seemed that way the other night, George was shaking his head, agreeing with his twin.

"Really?" I asked, though I still didn't believe it.

"Well it's a work in progress, certainly," said George, "but —"

Ron made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, Kreacher edged into the room. The miserable old elf took absolutely no notice of us, acting as though he could not even see us, he shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under his breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, ". . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do . . ."

"Hello, Kreacher," said Ron very loudly, closing the door with a snap.

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.

"Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, turning around and bowing to Ron. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there's its brother, unnatural little beasts they all are."

Kreacher straightened up, eyeing us all very malevolently, and apparently convinced that we could not hear him as he continued to mutter.

". . . and there's the tainted blood traitor, standing there bold as brass, and the Mudblood," he said, referring to myself and Hermione respectively, "oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name, what is he doing here, Kreacher doesn't know. . ."

"This is Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

"The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's Mistress saw him in such company, oh what would she say —"

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's —"

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows _exactly_ what he's saying," said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.

Kreacher began rambling about Harry, eyes still on him, but I just wanted him to leave so I could continue talking to the twins.

"What do you want anyway, Kreacher?" I asked exasperatedly.

His huge eyes darted onto me.

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," came Sirius, glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen. At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor.

"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —"

"— and it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy," said Sirius.

"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart —"

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."

Kreacher bowed obnoxiously again and said, "Whatever Master says," then muttered furiously, "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him —"

"Oh my poor ears, having to listen to this bullshite every day," I mumbled in a mocking tone; everyone but Kreacher snickered.

"I asked you what you were up to," Sirius said coldly to the elf before he could retaliate against me. "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."

"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it —"

"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher."

And as much as he would've liked to, Kreacher didn't dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was redolent of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

"— comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too —"

"Keep muttering and I _will_ be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably, and he slammed the door shut on the elf.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," said Hermione pleadingly, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him."

"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little —"

"If you just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe —"

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order," said Sirius curtly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it."

Sirius walked across the room, where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. The rest of us followed him.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show us a sprawling family tree dating back to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

 **THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK**

 **"TOUJOURS PUR"**

"Always pure," I scoffed, thinking of my own family tapestry which read the same thing, only in Bulgarian: "VINAGI CHIST."

"Is that French?" Hermione inquired.

"You speak _French_ too?" asked Fred, incredulously.

"French is one of the _elite languages_ Pure-bloods are taught to speak at a very young age," said Sirius rather bitterly before turning to me. "I'm surprised Carlisle taught you."

"He was far more interested in my learning Bulgarian," I admitted. "Lucius Malfoy convinced him to teach me the typical Pure-blood rubbish."

"Piano or violin?" Sirius asked me, smirking.

"Both." I mirrored it.

He shook his head. "Show off," he teased. "I was _supposed_ to learn the piano, but I wasn't very good."

"Lunch," said Mrs. Weasley's voice.

She had reentered the room, holding her wand high in front of her and balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, and I would've gone with them, but Sirius stopped me.

"Demetria, could we speak now?"

I suddenly became sort of nervous . . . I'd forgotten he wanted to speak to me. But what if it was to tell me what Mrs. Weasley did not let him say last night?

"Yeah, what's up?" I asked, suddenly very excited.

"I know Remus already spoke to you about this," Sirius began, and then my heart sort of sunk with disappointment because I knew what this was about.

"You and my mum?" I said. "Yeah, I know nothing happened."

"Well, Remus doesn't know something _almost_ happened," Sirius said solemnly.

"Er, am I going to want to hear this?" I asked, frowning.

He gave a chuckle. "Nothing like that," he assured me. "Your mother meant a lot to me and she admitted to having feelings for me too, but as I've told you, relationships, for me, were . . ." He struggled to find the right word.

"You avoided them like the plague," I offered.

"Well, yes," he admitted. "I knew I wasn't good enough for Lucy, and she knew I wasn't one for commitment, so I told her it would be best for both of us to move on . . . and she did —"

"But you didn't," I guessed.

Sirius's initial silence gave me my answer: I was right.

"But what Molly said last night isn't true," he said, sort of changing the topic. "I don't think you're Lucy. You may look like her and even act like her sometimes, but you're also a lot like Aiden, and Aiden was one of my closest friends. My point is, I enjoy spending time with _you_ — Demetria. I just didn't want you to think . . . otherwise."

"I understand," I assured him, smiling; he relaxed and mirrored it.

"Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left," Mrs. Weasley called, probably worrying that Sirius was feeding me more information about the Order.

If only.

Over the next few days, I was back to spending time with the twins — not that it truly mattered; Mrs. Weasley kept us all working very hard. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate; finally, the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all our attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk; Moody had not dropped by headquarters yet, so we couldn't be sure what was inside it.

I learned Ron was deathly afraid of spiders when we moved to cleaning the dining room and found spiders large as saucers lurking in the dresser. He left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for at least an hour and a half.

Kreacher was constantly popping up wherever we congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mum to start shrieking and for the rest of us to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though we gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation we were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled us to our tasks.

I never did bother to find out why George was suddenly insisting that he was moving on from his feelings for me. I wasn't even totally sure if I believed it yet . . . but he and Fred assured me that we were all still nothing but friends, and it truly did seem like it.

–

 _Bright, white stars glitter against the dark canvas of the sky. I'm standing on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, watching them twinkle up above me._

 _"Beautiful, aren't they?" says a voice from next to me. I look_ — _it's Cedric._

 _His handsome face is illuminated by the pale moonlight; his grey eyes are full of life and love._

 _"I wish I could touch them," I say sadly._

 _Cedric smiles._

 _"You can," he insists. "Just reach out."_

 _I start reaching my arm out toward him, but as soon as my hand meets his chest, we're no longer in the Astronomy Tower. I'm kneeling on the ground beside Cedric who is sprawled out, his grey eyes no longer holding life._

 _But it's only for a second, because when I blink next, I'm standing in front of the maze from the third task. I don't have time to process what's happening, though, because in an instant, Ludo Bagman calls out mine and Harry's names, and we both take off into the maze._

 _"You've got be quicker than that, Harris," I hear someone whisper in my ear, but when I turn to look, no one is around._

 _I'm still running through the maze. I've lost sight of Harry, but there doesn't appear to be any turns I can make. The hedges on either side of me are pointing no where but straight ahead. I try to turn back and find where Harry must've turned, but I can't find anything. It's all one way._

 _I take out my wand and blast through one of the hedge walls, but it leads me to a path identical to the other one. I go back and try the other hedge wall, but it's the same. There's only one way to go, so I continue down it, sprinting, until I finally see something in the distance._

 _It's Harry and Cedric, and I watch them both grasp the Triwizard Cup, but it doesn't take them anywhere. They begin walking toward me, each of them carrying a handle of the cup, and I skid to a halt right in front of them._

 _"Kill the spare," says the voice again._

 _"Avada Kedavra!" I shout._

 _A jet of green light flies from my wand and hits Cedric square in the chest, sending him flying backwards._

–

I immediately bolted upright, gasping for air. I looked around the dark bedroom and waited for my eyes to adjust a bit, so I could make out both Hermione and Ginny sleeping in their beds, unphased. I wasn't surprised, though; I'd been having dreams like that nearly every night since the Triwizard Tournament, and I'd never woken them up.

This particular nightmare had shaken me up quite a bit, though, it was not like the others. I evened out my breathing before getting out of bed and sneaking down to the kitchen for a glass of water. And although I'd been expecting it to be empty, upon opening the door, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks sitting there. They looked as though they'd been expecting me, but once they took notice of my state, they appeared taken aback.

"Demetria," said Mrs. Weasley, clearly caught off guard, "sorry, dear, we thought you were Harry."

I'd forgotten Harry's hearing was that morning . . . It was _morning_?

"Are you all right?" Remus asked, concerned.

"I . . . um . . ." I hadn't realized how hoarse my voice was and how much my throat had closed up. I was also suddenly very aware of what I could only assume were dried tears on my cheeks, ". . . had a nightmare."

"I'll start on breakfast now," said Mrs. Weasley as she leapt to her feet, pulled out her wand, and hurried over to the fire.

"I just came down for water," I said quietly.

And nearly right after I'd said it, Mrs. Weasley had handed me a tall glass of water.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything else?" she asked.

Right then, Harry entered the room.

"Harry," she greeted him brightly, "what would you like for breakfast? Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?"

Harry appeared as surprised as everyone else had been when I'd entered the room, but he quickly collected himself and said, "Just — just toast, thanks."

"Come and sit down, Harry . . ." said Tonks, with a shuddering yawn. She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process.

"Good luck," I said to Harry as I turned to leave and he made his way to the chair.

"Are you all right?" he asked me, noticing that I clearly wasn't.

"You can stay, Demetria," Remus offered, his eyes looking at me as if to say that he wished I would. "You don't have to talk about it," he added.

And honestly, I didn't really want to even attempt to go back to sleep, so I took a seat beside Remus at the table.

"What were you saying about Scrimgeour?" Remus asked Tonks.

I took a long drink of water and noticed Harry's eyes on me. I looked to him and mouthed: _Bad dream_. He nodded sadly, mouthing back: _Me too_.

"Oh . . . yeah . . . well, we need to be a bit more careful," said Tonks, "he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions . . ."

Mrs. Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of Harry before she sat down beside him and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out creases across the shoulders.

". . . and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired," Tonks finished, yawning hugely again.

"I'll cover for you," said Mr. Weasley. "I'm okay, I've got a report to finish anyway..." He then turned from Tonks to Harry. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged.

"It'll all be over soon," Mr. Weasley said bracingly. "In a few hours' time you'll be cleared."

Harry said nothing.

I felt bad for him . . . Granted, I couldn't relate to the exact feeling of possibly being expelled from school, but I could, of course, understand feeling anxious, not knowing what was about to happen.

"The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you."

"Amelia Bones is okay, Harry," said Tonks earnestly. "She's fair, she'll hear you out."

Harry only nodded in reply.

"Don't lose your temper," said Sirius abruptly. "Be polite and stick to the facts."

Another nod.

"The law's on your side," Remus said quietly. "Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations."

Mrs. Weasley began attacking Harry's hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head.

"Doesn't it ever lie flat?" she said desperately.

Harry, with his mop of unruly hair, shook his head. Mr. Weasley checked his watch and looked up at him.

"I think we'll go now," he said. "We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off there than hanging around here."

"Okay," said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet.

"It'll be okay, Harry," I told him, finding my own voice.

"Good luck," said Remus. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"And if it's not," said Sirius grimly, "I'll see to Amelia Bones for you . . ."

Harry smiled weakly. Mrs. Weasley hugged him.

"We've all got our fingers crossed," she said.

"Right," said Harry. "Well . . . see you later then."

"Oh, before we go," said Mr. Weasley, and I was surprised when he turned to look at me, "Demetria, Dumbledore was here last night. He said there was no pressure, but since we'll be seeing him again today, he was wondering if you might have an answer for him?"

Hogwarts or Durmstrang. I'd been telling everyone I would consider it, and I truly had been, but every time I tried to make a decision, I wound up with even more points to consider. If Grandad found out about my leaving Durmstrang, would it upset him? If I transferred to Hogwarts, would it be too painful of a reminder of Cedric? If I stayed at Durmstrang, would I make new friends . . . Would I ever see Finn again . . . Maybe I should've been staying close to Snape and Draco, getting as much information as I could about the Death Eaters . . . Or _maybe_ it was time to finally take the advice I'd gotten from George, a very long time ago:

 _"You've just got to be…true to yourself," he told me simply before breaking out in a smile. "And don't be afraid to let that heart of yours decide, Princess."_

"Tell Dumbledore I'll be transferring to Hogwarts."

It was odd, but even though I'd decided on it, it didn't feel like the right decision until I'd actually said it. To say the words out loud . . . I dunno, it just made me . . . happy, and it seemed like everyone else was rather happy about it too.

"Fantastic news," said Mr. Weasley with a grin.

"You'll love it, Dem," Sirius told me.

"I'm sure I will," I said before turning to Harry. "And I'll be seeing you there, Potter."

Harry gave another small smile before he and Mr. Weasley left.

"Demetria, this means you'll need to get the Hogwarts supplies," said Mrs. Weasley brightly. "They haven't sent out the booklists yet, but there are others you'll need that the fifth years already have. Oh, and you'll need the uniform!"

"Can I go today?" I asked almost instantly.

Yes, I was excited, but I was also just glad to get out of the house. It was true that I didn't exactly have to stay, but between all of the cleaning and the . . . well, having no where to go . . . I hadn't been outside of 12 Grimmauld Place since the day I'd arrived.

"That shouldn't be a problem, I'd be glad to take you," Mrs. Weasley insisted. "Remus, would you care to join us?"

"I wish I could," he said genuinely, "but Dumbledore's given me specific instructions for today."

My eyes met Sirius's, as I was about to speak to him, but I bit my tongue. I wished I could've asked him to come along, but if there was one person in the House of Black who absolutely couldn't leave, it was Sirius Black, himself — a prisoner in his own home.

I sheepishly shot my gaze down at the floor for a moment. "I'll, er, start getting ready," I told Mrs. Weasley, "see if the twins want to come."

With that, I'd gotten up and left the kitchen, making my way soundlessly past the portraits and up the stairs. Since it was still rather early, I took my time showering and getting ready. Hermione and Ginny were rather early to rise, and so I'd shared the news with them first.

"Demetria, that's wonderful!" said Hermione fervently. "You must be so excited to be attending the same school your parents went to!"

"Yeah I am," I said, beaming.

"And it's great because you've already gotten sort of a sneak peak," added Ginny, "so you already know where practically everything is!"

When I told Ron, not long after, he'd said something very similar: "Ace! And, hey, you already know your way around, no need to wander like a first year."

The only people left to tell, were Finn (who I wrote a letter to) and the twins.

"Morning, gents!" I said, bursting through their bedroom door.

They both groaned.

"Dem, we love you, but piss off," said Fred groggily.

"Fine, then I guess I won't tell you my exciting news," I said, turning to leave.

"Whoa, hold the Portkey," said George, he and his brother far more alert now, "what's the news?"

"Don't worry about it," I insisted, feigning innocence, "it's not important. I was just going to ask if you two wanted to come with me to Diagon Alley today."

They were both sitting upright in their beds, watching me very carefully.

"Demetria Mildred Harris —"

"Mildred?" I parroted, amused.

Fred shrugged. "I took a shot."

"Tri, are you coming to Hogwarts?" George asked flat-out.

I grinned and nodded; the twins immediately began cheering and rushed over, both wrapping their arms around me.

"I knew you'd come around!" said George.

"You're going to love it, Mildred!" said Fred.

"D'you have any idea what my middle name actually is?" I asked, laughing.

"I know it starts with an E!" George said brightly.

"That's actually ri —"

"Eugene!" said Fred with a clap of his hands.

"I wonder if it's too late to change my mind."

And I rolled my eyes, but kept on smiling.

–

I knew that switching from Durmstrang to Hogwarts would require some getting used to, but I'd completely forgotten one of those things was the uniform difference.

Fred and George wolf-whistled as I emerged from behind the curtain at Madam Malkin's.

"That's enough, you two," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

If, even a year ago, someone would've told me I'd be trading in my loose, comfortable, Durmstrang pants for a somewhat short skirt and a pair of tights, I would've reconsidered the transfer altogether. But honestly, I didn't mind such girly things anymore, ever since the Yule Ball, really.

"Allow me, Your Majesty," said Fred, taking my hand and helping me up on to the stool. "And by the way, _this_ uniform looks much better on you."

"I knew I should've asked Ron to come instead," I teased.

The plain white buttoned shirt, charcoal grey knitted v-neck jumper, and the skirt all fit just fine, but the elderly seamstress did have to adjust my black robe a bit.

"I believe this is our last stop, Demetria," said Mrs. Weasley, "if you're sure you have the right cauldron and —"

"Absolutely positive," I assured her.

"Very good, then. I can come back and get the rest of your books once they send out the list," she continued.

"Or maybe Demetria would like to get herself a pet to bring to Hogwarts," George suggested.

Mrs. Weasley looked to me expectantly.

"No, that's all right," I insisted.

"Are you sure, Dem?" Fred pressed, before speaking low enough so Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hear. "Perhaps a nice, reliable owl so you wouldn't have to borrow one from your brother or the school — ?"

"— so you could get a bit of business done?" George added, also in a whisper. I guessed that meant she wasn't aware that they were starting up the joke shop.

I sighed in defeat.

"Y'know what, I think I actually _would_ like an owl," I told Mrs. Weasley; the twins high-fived.

And so, after purchasing my robes, we headed over to Eeylops Owl Emporium — a shop I'd seen many times, but never had any reason to enter . . . until now.

Eeylops was rather small and dark inside, and there were plenty of different owls to choose from, all relatively quiet in their cages.

"So why is it you two can't buy your own owl?" I whispered to the twins as we began to peruse the owls; Mrs. Weasley trailed far behind.

"Well we haven't exactly got a shop yet, so business is an owl-post-service at the moment," Fred explained, keeping his voice down.

"Mum's already suspicious, we don't exactly need anything tipping her off," said George before speaking loud enough for Mrs. Weasley to overhear. "Yeah, you're right, that is a cute one!"

Right when George had said that, the dark-colored owl in front of us, snapped at George's finger when he moved it up to the cage. Fred and I chuckled as he hurried away.

"All right, well you can use it whenever you need," I told them, " _but_ it is my owl, so if I need it, you'll just have to wait."

"Deal," they said in unison.

We'd stopped in front of a medium-sized barn owl, its bright white, heart-shaped face pointed in our direction. The blue sticker on its cage indicated it was a male, and it had rich, brown feathers.

"What about him?" I asked.

"It's not up to us, Dem," said Fred, smirking.

"It's _your_ owl," George said, mirroring it.

I brought the cage up to the desk and handed the shopkeeper ten Galleons.

"I think he was a fine choice, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, popping back into the conversation.

"What're you gonna name him?" Fred inquired.

"Certainly not _Eugene_ ," I teased, shooting him a significant glance.

"'Course not, you wouldn't want to share the name with your owl," he said. "That's embarrassing."

"Maybe name it Fred," George suggested in jest.

I held the cage out in front of me as we kept walking, looking at my owl and thinking of what to call him...

"Ares," I decided.

"I'm an Aries," said Fred in amusement.

"Really? So am I," said George, feigning surprise. "What an odd coincidence!"

I rolled my eyes again — something that happened a lot around the twins.

"Actually, I named him Ares after the Greek god of war," I explained. "He was one of the twelve Olymp —"

The twins groaned.

"Hey, Hermione, let us know when Demetria's back," Fred teased.

Yes, there certainly was a lot of eye rolling around the twins.


	4. Chapter 3: Hatstall

_**Chapter Three**_

 _Hatstall_

:.:.:

It was the very last day of the holidays, and while everyone else was getting ready to go back to school the next day, I would be going to Hogwarts that night.

"So you just have to take a bunch of exams, or what?" Fred inquired. I sat on his bed while he and George began rifling through their possessions to get them in order.

"I reckon that's what Dumbledore said, yeah," I said.

"D'you reckon he'll Sort you tonight too?" George asked curiously.

"I hope not," Fred interjected. "I want to be there cheering you on when you get Sorted into Gryffindor."

I froze.

"Y'know, I might not end up in Gryffindor..."

The twins looked as though they hadn't even considered any alternatives.

"Oh yeah, no, we know that," Fred insisted.

"You might actually be a Hufflepuff for all we know," teased George.

"Booklists are here," said Ron, entering the room to hand out envelopes and then promptly leaving.

"About time," said Fred. "I hope Dumbledore didn't wait so long to send them because of you, Princess."

"D'you think that's what happened?" I asked, suddenly very worried. I'd been hoping that being the school's Lille Prinsesse was over.

"Not at all," said George, slapping his twin's arm. "Dumbledore's got a million other things going on. It's got nothing to do with you, Dem."

I nodded; George was probably right. I opened the letter: it contained two pieces of parchment, one a reminder from Dumbledore that he would be bringing me to Hogwarts that night, the other saying which new books the fifth years would be needing. There were only two on the list: _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5,_ by Miranda Goshawk and —

" _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?" said Fred before looking to George expectantly.

"Are you two — ?"

 _Crack_.

They brought me with them as we all Apparated to Harry and Ron's room.

"We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book," said Fred conversationally.

I groaned. The only thing more annoying than the twins Apparating all over the place was when they took me with them.

"Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said George.

"And about time too," said Fred.

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back," Fred told Harry, "and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year."

"Well, yeah, isn't the position 'cursed'?" I asked, forgetting where I'd heard that.

"No, it's not 'cursed'," said George, mocking my air quotes, "but it _is_ cursed," He did not apply the air quotes the second time (and as I'm sure you already know, I rolled my eyes). "Just look at what's happened to the last four professors."

"One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months," said Harry, counting them off on his fingers.

"Okay, I see what you mean," I admitted defeat.

"What's up with you, Ron?" asked Fred.

Ron did not answer. I looked over to find him standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter, presumably from Hogwarts.

"What's the matter?" said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment. His mouth fell open then too.

"Prefect?" he said, staring incredulously at the letter. " _Prefect_?"

George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand, and turned it upside down, something scarlet and gold falling into George's palm.

"No way," he said in a hushed voice.

"There's been a mistake," said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. "No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect. . ."

"Well I think it's great," I said honestly. "Congratulations, Ron, sincerely."

But Ron was still in too great a state of shock to respond. The twins' heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.

"We thought you were a cert!" said Fred in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.

"We thought Dumbledore was _bound_ to pick you!" said George indignantly.

Perhaps that was another reason I was happy for Ron — it seemed he'd always been Harry's sidekick, and I knew it must've been hard for him, not being seen on the same level as his best friend, the Golden Boy.

"Tying the Triwizard and everything!"

"That hasn't got anything to do with being prefect," I told them.

"You would've _definitely_ been a prefect if you already knew what House you were in," Fred scoffed.

"I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against Harry," said George to Fred.

"Yeah," said Fred slowly. "Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right."

He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.

" _Prefect_ . . . ickle Ronnie the prefect . . ."

"Oh, Mum's going to be revolting," groaned George.

" _Sod off_ , you two," I said exasperatedly.

George thrusted the prefect badge back at Ron as though it might contaminate him. A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. I couldn't help but remember Cedric's prefect badge of canary yellow and black with a badger . . .

The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.

"Did you — did you get — ?"

Harry was the one holding the badge now and when she spotted it, she let out a shriek.

"I knew it!" she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. "Me too, Harry, me too!"

"No," said Harry quickly, pushing the badge back into Ron's hand. "It's Ron, not me."

"It — what?"

"Ron's prefect, not me," Harry said.

" _Ron_?" said Hermione, her jaw dropping. "But . . . are you sure? I mean —"

She turned red as Ron looked around at her with a defiant expression on his face.

"It's my name on the letter," he said before turning to me and speaking benevolently. "And thank you, Demetria, for being the only person who believes this could happen to me."

I offered a small smile, still not able to shake my thoughts about Cedric.

"I . . ." said Hermione, looking thoroughly bewildered. "I . . . well . . . wow! Well done, Ron! That's really —"

"Unexpected," said George, nodding.

"No," said Hermione, blushing harder than ever, "no, it's not . . . Ron's done loads of . . . he's really . . ."

The door behind her opened a little wider and Mrs. Weasley backed into the room carrying a pile of freshly laundered robes.

"Ginny said the booklists had come at last," she said, glancing around at all the envelopes as she made her way over to the bed and started sorting the clothes into two piles. "If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing . . . what color would you like?"

"Get him red and gold to match his badge," said George, smirking.

"Match his what?" said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron's pile.

"His _badge_ ," said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. "His lovely shiny new _prefect's badge_."

I was all for having fun, breaking rules, and pulling some pranks, but I, honestly, didn't think being made prefect was the end of the world. Especially since it meant being able to use that fancy bathroom at Hogwarts, I would've been all for it if I were made a prefect.

Fred's words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley's preoccupation about pajamas.

"His . . . but . . . Ron, you're not . . . ?"

Ron held up his badge.

Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione's.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?" said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around Ron.

"Better run along home, then, boys," I told them, smirking.

"Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh _Ronnie_ —"

Fred and George were both making loud retching noises behind her back but Mrs. Weasley did not notice; arms tight around Ron's neck, she was kissing him all over his face, which had turned a brighter scarlet than his badge.

"Mum . . . don't . . . Mum, get a grip . . ." he muttered, trying to push her away.

She let go of him and said breathlessly, "Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course."

"W-what do you mean?" said Ron, looking as though he didn't believe his ears.

"You've got to have a reward for this!" said Mrs. Weasley fondly. "How about a nice new set of dress robes?"

"We've already bought him some," said Fred sourly, who looked as though he sincerely regretted his generosity.

"Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers —"

"Mum," said Ron hopefully, "can I have a new broom?"

Mrs. Weasley's face fell slightly; broomsticks were expensive.

"Not a really good one!" Ron hastened to add. "Just — just a new one for a change . . ."

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then smiled.

"Of _course_ you can . . . Well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later . . . Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks . . . A prefect . . . Oh, I'm all of a dither!"

She gave Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, sniffed loudly, and bustled from the room. Fred and George exchanged looks.

"You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?" said Fred in a falsely anxious voice.

"We could curtsy, if you like," said George.

"Oh, shut up," said Ron, scowling at them, as was I.

"Or what?" said Fred, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Going to put us in detention?"

"I'd love to see him try," sniggered George.

"He could if you don't watch out!" said Hermione angrily.

Fred and George burst out laughing and Ron muttered, "Drop it, Hermione."

"No, Ron, she's right," I said, growing rather irritated with the twins. "They can't just push you around. You two had better watch your step."

"Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over," said George, pretending to tremble. "But, Ronnie, you'd better watch out too. I reckon Demetria's got a bit of a crush on you."

Ron's face was still as red as his badge.

"Not surprising," teased Fred. "After all, she's got a thing for prefects." I could see that he immediately regretted saying that.

And though, I knew he hadn't meant anything by it, I couldn't help but allow the comment to affect me. Again, I thought of Cedric and his yellow and black prefect badge. I thought of when he said I was his girlfriend and gave me the password to the prefects' bathroom. I thought of how many times he'd broken the rules for me, including that one perfect night in the Astronomy Tower . . .

"Demetria, I —"

I hadn't noticed how silent the room was, but I snapped back from my thoughts and quickly assured Fred, "No, it's all right. It was just a joke, I know. I'm fine."

But still, no one spoke.

I forced a small smile and a breath of nervous laughter, mostly to keep the tears at bay. "I should go pack," I said quietly, my throat beginning to close, before rushing out of the room.

Just when I thought it was getting easier . . .

It took most of the afternoon for all of us to pack our trunks, and it wasn't until six o'clock that Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper. Dumbledore would be coming to take me to Hogwarts in about an hour.

Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read _CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE_ — _NEW PREFECTS_. She looked in a better mood than I'd seen her all holiday.

"I thought we'd have a little party, not a sit-down dinner," she said as Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Harry, and I entered the room. "Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron, I've sent them both owls and they're _thrilled_ ," she added, beaming.

Fred rolled his eyes; I elbowed him in the ribs.

Remus, Sirius, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after I'd gotten myself a butterbeer. It was a rather odd sight, considering the last time I'd seen Moody — or rather, Moody's body — it had locked me in a classroom, ready to kill me.

"Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here," said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his traveling cloak. "We've been wanting to ask you for ages — could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty."

"No problem, Molly . . ."

I'd expected Moody to leave the room, but he stayed right where he was, his electric-blue eye swiveling upward and staring fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen.

"Drawing room . . ." he growled, as the pupil contracted. "Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it . . . Yeah, it's a boggart . . . Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?"

"No, no, I'll do it myself later," beamed Mrs. Weasley. "You have your drink. We're having a little bit of a celebration, actually . . ." She gestured at the scarlet banner. "Fourth prefect in the family!" she said fondly, ruffling Ron's hair.

"Prefect, eh?" growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swiveling around to gaze into the side of his head. I wasn't sure what it was looking at, but when Harry shifted uncomfortably, I got an idea.

"Well, congratulations," said Moody, "authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you . . ."

Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she didn't even complain that they'd brought Mundungus with them too.

"Well, I think a toast is in order," said Mr. Weasley when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. "To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!"

Ron and Hermione beamed as we all drank to them and then applauded.

"I was never a prefect myself," I heard Tonks say brightly as we all helped ourselves to food. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" said Ginny.

"Like the ability to behave myself," she said.

Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back.

Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual barklike laugh.

"No one would've made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Remus was the good boy, he got the badge."

"I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," said Remus. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

"You were a prefect but Harry's dad got Head Boy?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah, not entirely sure how that happened," said Sirius. "We thought if Remus didn't get Head Boy, Aiden had a better chance at it — he was a prefect too."

I really started to wonder if I would've been made a prefect if I'd already been Sorted . . .

I found myself sort of distracted from the party, thinking about what House I'd be in and what exactly would happen when Dumbledore arrived shortly. I did, however, notice Ron rhapsodizing about his new broom to anybody who would listen, Hermione talking very earnestly to Remus about her view of elf rights, Mrs. Weasley and Bill having their usual argument about Bill's hair, and Fred and George off in the corner with Mundungus, speaking rather quietly about something.

Fred and George suddenly rushed out of the kitchen, but before I could stop them and see what was going on, the doorbell rang followed by Mrs. Black's screeches.

"That'll be Dumbledore," said Mrs. Weasley, still rather chipper. "Gather your things, Demetria."

Mrs. Weasley hurried to get the door, Remus followed probably to shut the curtains to the portrait, and I walked upstairs to collect Ares and my trunk. I considered popping in on the twins to see what all the secrecy was for, but decided against it and made my way to the front door instead.

"Good evening, Demetria," Dumbledore greeted pleasantly, kind eyes glittering from behind his half-moon spectacles. "All ready?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Not just yet!" said Mrs. Weasley, wrapping me in a hug. "Look after yourself, and do your best to keep Fred and George out of _too much_ trouble."

"I'll do what I can," I said with a laugh.

Remus, Sirius, Bill, and Tonks were making their way over now but I met them halfway, because Tonks and that damn umbrella stand always meant trouble.

"It's been great meeting you, Demetria," she said, keeping her voice low and hugging me.

"You too," I said sincerely. "See you soon."

"I'm glad I finally got to meet you too," said Bill after a quick hug. "Don't forget about Ancient Runes, and keep your grades up."

"That won't be a problem," I assured him with a smile.

"You'll have a great time," said Sirius warmly, embracing me next. "Set off some Dr. Filibuster's Fireworks for me, won't you?"

"All right, I'm getting confused, should I be on my _best_ behavior or my _worst_?" I said in jest, looking between Sirius and Mrs. Weasley. Sirius tousled my hair, chuckling.

I turned to Remus who didn't say anything at first, simply smiled and pulled me into a hug.

"Don't forget to write," he said when we pulled apart, "and learn from my mistakes," he spoke very solemnly then. "If you're going to do your friends' homework, charge them more than three Chocolate Frogs."

I laughed as quietly as I could without waking up the portraits.

"Not a problem," I assured him, grinning. "I don't accept candy as currency."

"You'll do just fine then."

I returned to Dumbledore and retrieved my luggage.

"All set," I told him brightly.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Now if you'll place your hand on mine, we'll be off."

I did and, much to my dismay, we were launched through the sensation of Apparation — a feeling I knew all too well even though I wasn't of age to do so yet. Anyway though, we ended up on the road just outside of Hogsmeade Station, where we were immediately joined by two more people who'd also just popped in — literally.

"Finn!"

"Hey, De — !"

I'd placed my trunk and owl cage on the ground, wrapping my arms around my Scottish friend. He laughed at my enthusiasm but instantly returned the gesture.

"Missed me, then, did you?" he said, grinning as we pulled away.

"I really did," I told him. "I'm sorry I didn't see you this summer, things have been —"

"No worries, I was already filled in," assured Finn, gesturing to the person who'd Apparated him there.

"Hello, Harris," said Minerva McGonagall pleasantly.

"It's good to see you again, Professor," I told her earnestly.

"It's good to see you too," she said, the corners of her mouth being tugged upward into a small smile.

"Ah, our carriage has arrived," said Dumbledore.

I followed his gaze and saw a stagecoach being led by a strange sort of creature that I'd never seen before, only learned about. They looked sort of like horses, but there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither — vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats.

"Horseless carriages?" Finn asked.

"They're pulled by thestrals," I said sadly.

I almost wished I wasn't able to see them. The only way one can see a thestral is if they've seen death . . . I instantly relived the one I'd seen and shuddered.

"In we go," said Dumbledore.

He and McGonagall helped Finn and I with our luggage as the four of us climbed into the carriage.

"So who's your new friend?" Finn asked, gesturing to my owl cage.

"Ares," I told him fondly.

"Like the Greek god of war?"

Don't get me wrong, I loved the twins' company, but I'd really missed Finn, someone who appreciated the same things I did.

"It's great to be back with you, Winifinn," I said whole-heartedly.

"Agreed, Demetrius."

Rattling and swaying, the thestrals pulled the carriage up the road. Finn seized this opportunity to discuss the castle with Dumbledore, being that he was such a huge fan of it (He'd read _Hogwarts: A History_ about a dozen times). I was more focused on simply observing as we passed between tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds. In a way, it felt odd to call this place my school now, but it also felt sort of right. As much as I'd enjoyed my time at Durmstrang, I couldn't help feeling that perhaps Hogwarts was where I truly belonged.

The castle loomed closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet-black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright. The carriage jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and we all exited the carriage, walking up the stone steps and into the castle.

"Now then," said Dumbledore as we walked through the brightly-lit entrance hall, "as I am sure you are both aware, there will be some brief testing to assess your skills and see exactly which levels of each class you'll be needing. I expect Durmstrang's fourth year classes were fairly compatible with those given here, but — as I said — it will be brief, not to worry."

The four long House tables in the Great Hall sat, just as I'd remembered them, under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky you could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair, illuminating the Hall all along the tables, but two spots in particular caught my eye. I could see pieces of parchment placed on the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables right in the very front, closest to the staff table.

And speaking of the staff table, every seat at it was occupied, except for Dumbledore's and McGonagall's. I recognized most of the professors, particularly Severus Snape, but there was one I couldn't quite place. She was squat with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. My best guess was that this wad of pink bubblegum was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Please pick a table," Dumbledore instructed, "it does not matter which, however. I promise it will have no affect on which House you are Sorted into."

Finn and I exchanged a brief glance and shrugged before he took off for the Gryffindor table, further down. We were each seated in the front of the furthest tables from one another, and began answering the questions on the exams before us. There were a few questions from every subject, and it was all content that I was familiar with. Once that portion was over, there came a more hands-on approach for subjects such as Charms and Transfiguration; we displayed our skills in these subjects by casting the appropriate spells. When it came time to test our knowledge in Potions, Snape and Dumbledore escorted Finn and I into the dungeons.

"Demetria, I understand you were placed in an advanced Potions class back at Durmstrang," said Dumbledore once we'd entered the familiar classroom.

"Yeah, the class was sort of a year ahead," I said modestly.

"Well, given your marks on the written exam, I would actually consider placing you in the N.E.W.T. level class."

"N.E.W.T. level?" I parroted incredulously. "Professor, I'm really quite all right with just taking the sixth year class, or even fifth."

"Nonsense, I wouldn't want to bore you," insisted Dumbledore before turning to Snape, "Severus, a sixth year potion for Demetria."

"Very well," drawled Snape. "Archer, you will be brewing the Wit-Sharpening Potion, and Harris — the Wiggenweld Potion."

By the end of the Potion brewing exam, Dumbledore had finalized his decision on placing me in the seventh year Potions class. He assured me it could be worked out by placing me in a higher-level Arithmancy class during the fifth year Potions slot. And as much as I would've enjoyed simply just sticking with the classmates in my own year, I was also thankful that I wouldn't have to sit through lessons I'd already excelled in. I was, after all, one of the select few who liked to learn.

"I'd now like to ask both of you to follow me to my office for one last matter —" said Dumbledore. "— your Sorting."

I wasn't sure why, but I suddenly became very nervous, as though the Sorting was another exam. Although, I actually wasn't nervous to take exams . . . but you know what I mean . . .

"We're being Sorted tonight?" asked Finn excitedly. "I thought it wouldn't be until tomorrow in front of the rest of the school."

"I did consider that, but I thought it would be best if you were Sorted before the first years," Dumbledore explained. "That way, you wouldn't have to sleep in the hospital wing tonight — Fizzing Whizbee," he said to the gargoyle who sprang to life and moved aside.

The Headmaster's office was just as I'd remembered it, though I hadn't exactly been expecting much to have changed. Dumbledore did, however, reach for something that I'd noticed before but hadn't paid much attention to until now — a battered, old, patched and frayed, and extremely dirty pointed wizard's hat.

"That's the Sorting Hat?" said Finn, as though he'd been expecting something much more glamorous.

Dumbledore gave a laugh.

"I'm afraid you don't survive since the Founder's era without a bit of wear and tear, Mr. Archer," he said. "Perhaps you would like to go first?"

Finn looked to me and I gestured for him to go ahead. He made his way over to Dumbledore who placed the Sorting Hat on Finn's head. It dropped fairly low over his face, covering his eyes, and after a minute or so, a rip near its brim opened like a mouth and declared:

"SLYTHERIN!"

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting for Finn — maybe Gryffindor — but I was sort of relieved when he was placed in Slytherin, because I had the feeling that was where I might've ended up after all.

"Demetria?" Dumbledore urged me forward.

Finn clapped a hand on my shoulder as I passed him, standing before Dumbledore. He dropped the hat on my head, his face being the last thing I saw before my vision was compromised by the Sorting Hat. I saw nothing but the black inside of the hat. I waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in my ear. "I see a very large amount of wit and intelligence here . . . Yes, an astoundingly large amount. This mind will attain much — Ah, and what is this? Ambition . . . quite cunning, as well . . . but for good purposes . . . Certainly brave . . . very selfless — I haven't had a mind quite this complex in years!"

I was beginning to worry that I was unsortable . . .

"Nonsense!" said the small voice. "I will find a spot for you!"

It felt as though the Sorting Hat was taking a much longer time with me than with Finn. It continued to ramble on about the options.

"This mind would certainly do well in any House . . . But where will you blossom? Among the hardworking Hufflepuffs? Or perhaps Ravenclaw will quench your thirst for knowledge . . . No, no, look at all of this nerve — that cannot be ignored . . . but neither can this resourcefulness and determination . . . Why, you could achieve much in Gryffindor . . . Hmm . . . Gryffindor _or_ Slytherin . . . Ah, but this may be the necessary piece to uniting the Houses! Yes, it is quite clear now — better be SLYTHERIN!"

When Dumbledore finally removed the Sorting Hat from my head, I thought I might've felt . . . well, _something_ . . . but I didn't. I didn't feel relieved or disappointed, not excited or upset . . . I wasn't sure what I was feeling . . . perhaps simply acceptance. After all, I didn't see anything wrong with being a Slytherin, though I knew some of my friends and the rest of the school might . . . But my father had been a Slytherin, and I knew that this House was often misunderstood . . . much like me . . .

I thought back to what Ollivander told me about my wand core during the Triwizard Tournament: how the tail feather of an Augurey was only known to be found in one wand — mine — and though it was originally thought to signify a Dark witch or wizard, it merely fit one who was misunderstood.

"Bloody hell, what took so long?" groaned Finn.

"It wasn't sure where to place me," I defended. "Said my mind was complex."

"That can't be it," Finn teased. "Probably just had a bit of trouble penetrating your thick skull."

I slapped his arm, but laughed good-naturedly.

"Five minutes and forty-five seconds," said Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling kindly in my direction. "That is fifteen seconds longer than our longest Hatstall."

"Hatstall, sir?" I parroted.

"It is a rather archaic term we use for a student whose sorting took more than five minutes because the Sorting Hat found them to have a personality equally suited to different Houses," he explained, going to retrieve something from his desk. "True Hatstalls are rare — I would say they only occur every fifty years or so — Minerva McGonagall held the record at five and a half minutes."

Dumbledore handed us each a Slytherin emblem for our black robes, and a green tie with thin silver stripes.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said warmly.


	5. Chapter 4: A Warning From the Snakes

_**Chapter Four**_

 _A Warning From the Snakes_

:.:.:

Finn and I had the entire next day to ourselves . . . and had absolutely no idea what to do. One thing was for certain, though, we didn't want to spend it in the Slytherin common room. It wasn't anything like the Gryffindor common room, or even the one back at Durmstrang — it didn't feel very warm or inviting; the atmosphere was grand, certainly, but also quite cold and eerie . . . then again, it _was_ in the dungeons and extended partway under the Black Lake. I still had rather unpleasant memories of that lake. But anyway, the lake gave the light in the common room a bit of a green tinge, matching the greenish lamps and chairs, and low backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas. To be completely honest, I didn't dislike it, but I had to adjust.

It wasn't until after lunch time that Finn and I found something to occupy our time other than exploring the castle and playing Exploding Snap, and speaking of Exploding Snap . . .

"Have you spoken to Grigor?" I asked Finn as we took our brooms out to the Quidditch pitch, "or Viktor?"

"A bit, not much," he admitted.

"Yeah, same here," I said sadly. "I didn't even get to see them over the holiday . . ."

"Well I know Viktor's been busy with Quidditch," said Finn.

"And Grig's got a job — did he tell you?"

"He mentioned it, yeah," he said, sounding surprised. "I had no idea he wanted to be a magizoologist."

"I've known Grig for about three years, and he's only mentioned it —"

We'd reached the stadium, and I felt my heart sink in my chest. I didn't want to walk through . . . I half-expected to find the maze still sitting there . . .

"Oi, Dem," said Finn, bringing me back to reality, "it's gone, over and done with, all right?"

If only it were that simple.

I nodded, though reluctantly, and Finn took a hold of my free hand with his as we walked inside. I'd been holding my breath, but was able to physically relax when we were greeted by the plain old Quidditch field.

"Thanks," I said quietly, releasing Finn's hand.

"Don't mention it," he said softly before switching to a wittier tone. "Seriously, though, don't mention it — I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea about us."

"Oh, please," I said, immediately matching his tone, "you could do a lot worse than me."

"Hm, you've got a point, and it might actually boost my popularity," he continued, feigning deep consideration. "All right, hold my hand again."

I laughed, slapping his hand away when it reached out to me.

"Speaking of," I began, raising my eyebrows curiously, "since we're back . . . is there a certain _someone_ you're looking forward to seeing again?"

I was, of course, referring to Finn's 'casual-not-girlfriend' from just a few months ago — Daphne Greengrass.

Finn exhaled a breath of laughter and mounted his Nimbus 2002.

"I actually hadn't thought about that," he admitted.

"She didn't pop into your mind even _once_ over the summer?" I asked, remaining unconvinced.

Finn tossed me the Quaffle he'd retrieved and took off toward the goal posts. I followed suit on my Firebolt.

"No, I thought about _her_ ," he clarified once he was stationed in the scoring area, "I just — I dunno, I guess I didn't think about . . ."

"The fact that you'd be seeing her again?" I asked incredulously, keeping a rather large distance between us.

"Shut up!" Finn teased.

I raced toward him on my broom, faked left, and hurled the Quaffle straight through the middle goal.

"Sneaky, Harris!" he remarked, going to fetch the Quaffle.

"C'mon, don't change the subject!"

Finn laughed.

"I'm sorry, I really dunno what to say because I dunno what's going to happen!" he called out. "How's this for changing the subject: did you ever have another dream about that locket?"

Truth be told, I'd completely forgotten about that stupid locket.

" _Uggggggh_ ," I groaned, remembering how infuriating that bleeding thing was, and attempted to chuck the Quaffle through another goal again. Finn stopped it that time.

"Guess we're even then," he said with a smirk.

Finn and I stayed out on the Quidditch pitch for the remainder of the day until the sun tucked itself below the horizon line. When we started to hear and see a bit of commotion — the carriages bringing the other students up to the castle — we made our way back to the castle and dropped our brooms off in our dormitories. We also changed into our uniforms and made our way to the Great Hall, where everyone was beginning to gather.

The Hall looked just as it had the previous night, except for the silvery ghosts who were dotted about and the faces of all the other students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. I tried to spot a familiar face in the crowd, but gave up after a moment and followed Finn to the Slytherin table. It was familiar because all of the Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins during the tournament, and yet it was sort of a totally new experience, because this time, the table was actually ours.

"No sodding way!" someone exclaimed right when Finn and I walked over — Adrian Pucey. "You two know the tournament's over, right?"

"The ship left without us so we decided to stick around," I said in jest.

"Official Slytherins now," said Finn, adjusting his green and silver tie.

"Ace! It's great to see you both!" said Adrian fervently. "Oi, Draco! Did you know about this?"

Draco Malfoy appeared at the table with his usual cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, his jaw practically on the floor.

"Not in the slightest," he admitted before composing himself and grinning at Finn and I. "You two really transferred? Why?"

"We missed you too much, _Drakey_ ," cooed Finn, mocking Draco's obnoxious Yule Ball date, Pansy Parkinson; we all laughed as Draco rolled his eyes.

"I _still_ can't get away from her," he groaned. "especially now that we're both the prefects for Slytherin."

I hadn't noticed until he mentioned it, but Draco's robe did hold home to a green and silver prefect badge, a snake superimposed on it. And before I could stop myself, my eyes were scanning the students seated at the Hufflepuff table, hoping that somehow I would see one of their prefects looking back at me with his grey eyes. I hadn't even realized how long I'd checked out until Finn nudged my arm.

"Right, Dem?" he said.

"Yeah, 'course," I said, voice distant.

Adrian and Draco high-fived and voiced their excitement, and before I could even lean in to Finn and ask, he was already whispering the answer to me.

"I said we'd try out for the Quidditch team."

The doors from the entrance hall opened, a long line of scared-looking first years filing in who were led by McGonagall, carrying a stool on which sat the Sorting Hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim.

The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of us in the hall, and McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of the sea of students, then stood back.

We all waited until the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and burst into song:

 _In times of old when I was new_

 _And Hogwarts barely started_

 _The founders of our noble school_

 _Thought never to be parted:_

 _United by a common goal,_

 _They had the selfsame yearning,_

 _To make the world's best magic school_

 _And pass along their learning._

 _"Together we will build and teach!"_

 _The four good friends decided_

 _And never did they dream that they_

 _Might someday be divided,_

 _For were there such friends anywhere_

 _As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

 _Unless it was the second pair_

 _Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

 _So how could it have gone so wrong?_

 _How could such friendships fail?_

 _Why, I was there and so can tell_

 _The whole sad, sorry tale._

 _Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those_

 _Whose ancestry is purest."_

 _Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose_

 _Intelligence is surest."_

 _Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those_

 _with brave deeds to their name,"_

 _Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,_

 _And treat them just the same."_

 _These differences caused little strife_

 _When first they came to light,_

 _For each of the four founders had_

 _A House in which they might_

 _Take only those they wanted, so,_

 _For instance, Slytherin_

 _Took only pure-blood wizards_

 _Of great cunning, just like him,_

 _And only those of sharpest mind_

 _Were taught by Ravenclaw_

 _While the bravest and the boldest_

 _Went to daring Gryffindor._

 _Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

 _And taught them all she knew,_

 _Thus the Houses and their founders_

 _Retained the friendships firm and true._

 _So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

 _For several happy years,_

 _But then discord crept among us_

 _Feeding on our faults and fears._

 _The Houses that, like pillars four,_

 _Had once held up our school,_

 _Now turned upon each other and,_

 _Divided, sought to rule._

 _And for a while it seemed the school_

 _Must meet an early end,_

 _What with dueling and with fighting_

 _And the clash of friend on friend_

 _And at last there came a morning_

 _When old Slytherin departed_

 _And though the fighting then died out_

 _He left us quite downhearted._

 _And never since the founders four_

 _Were whittled down to three_

 _Have the Houses been united_

 _As they once were meant to be._

 _And now the Sorting Hat is here_

 _And you all know the score:_

 _I sort you into Houses_

 _Because that is what I'm for,_

 _But this year I'll go further,_

 _Listen closely to my song:_

 _Though condemned I am to split you_

 _Still I worry that it's wrong,_

 _Though I must fulfill my duty_

 _And must quarter every year_

 _Still I wonder whether sorting_

 _May not bring the end I fear._

 _Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

 _The warning history shows,_

 _For our Hogwarts is in danger_

 _From external, deadly foes_

 _And we must unite inside her_

 _Or we'll crumble from within._

 _I have told you, I have warned you . . ._

 _Let the Sorting now begin._

The hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured with muttering and whispers. I, myself, could only think of when the hat had Sorted me just last night and said my being in Slytherin could help unite the Houses . . . that I was the necessary piece . . .

The muttering in the Great Hall came to an abrupt end as McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out,

"Abercrombie, Euan."

A rather terrified-looking boy stumbled forward and put the hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

After a few more first years, McGonagall read out,

"Archer, Callum."

I'd never seen Finn's younger brother, but it was incredibly obvious that's exactly who he was. Callum looked like a younger version of Finn — they both had the same brown hair and sea green eyes, and if Callum didn't look distinctly younger, I could've sworn they were twins.

Finn was grinning beside me as he watched his brother place the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Should we make room over here?" I whispered.

"Nah," said Finn, still smiling ever-so-slightly at his brother, "he'll definitely get Hufflepuff or Gryffindor."

And, sure enough, a moment later, the Sorting Hat roared, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

I wasn't sure who was applauding and cheering more enthusiastically, Finn or the Hufflepuffs.

"That's your brother, mate?" Adrian asked cautiously.

"Yeah," said Finn, still grinning proudly.

"The others might give you shite," Draco warned.

Finn's smile immediately vanished, his expression hardening and appearing more solemn. A Slytherin with a Hufflepuff brother was bound to evoke some snide comments.

Slowly the long line of first years thinned until, finally, "Zeller, Rose" was sorted into Hufflepuff, and McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"To our newcomers," he said in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Everyone applauded as food appeared out of nowhere, the five long tables groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice. Instinctively, I'd looked across the table in hopes of seeing Grigor, who would've been drooling over the mountains of food, but I only saw Adrian.

"All right, Demetria?" he asked.

"Yeah," I assured him, shaking off my brief sadness, "things are just a bit different now, is all."

"Speaking of things being different," said a dark-skinned bloke from beside me whom I'd only spoken to once or twice the previous year — Blaise Zabini, "what was up with the Sorting Hat's new song?"

"'We must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within?' What d'you reckon that's all about?" said Theodore Nott, another bloke I hadn't spoken to much.

"These are dangerous times," I said reprovingly, "what with Volde —"

"Dem," said Draco gravely, "it's just a stupid song, sung by a hat."

"I still think it —"

"Draco's right," Blaise airily dismissed, "it's just a stupid song."

But I wasn't buying that, and I was sure Draco wasn't either. After all, it may've just been a hat, but it lived in Dumbledore's office — it must pick up some rather important information up there, and it made a point to say that my being in Slytherin could help unite the Houses . . . This was clearly something that needed to be done, although I wasn't sure exactly how to go about doing it.

When we'd all finished eating and the noise level in the hall started to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as we all turned to face the headmaster.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."

"Potter and his crew," Draco sneered under his breath.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four houndred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have had two students transfer here from Durmstrang Institute — both were Sorted just last night into Slytherin — perhaps you all remember Mr. Finnick Archer and Miss Demetria Harris?"

The Slytherins cheered especially loud, and that was saying something considering the thunderous applause and shouting which issued from every student in the Great Hall. Dumbledore had to quiet everyone down again.

"We have also had two changes in staffing this year," he continued. "We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause.

"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —"

He broke off, looking inquiringly at Umbridge, the woman who was dressed like the inside of a Chocoball the previous night (and she was _again_ that night as well). As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Umbridge said, " _Hem, hem,_ " and it became clear that she had gotten to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

I couldn't stand her already.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. The Herbology professor — Sprout, I believe — her eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and McGonagall's mouth was as thin as I'd ever seen it.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge simpered, "for those kind words of welcome."

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and it only made me hate her even more. She gave another little throat-clearing cough (" _Hem, hem_ ") and continued: "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!"

I took a glance around and did not see a single happy face.

"Bad year to transfer, I reckon," I whispered to Finn.

"You said it," he agreed. "D'you reckon it's too late to go back to Durmstrang?"

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

 _Very good friends_? What the sodding hell was wrong with this woman? Were we five years old?

Umbridge cleared her throat again (" _Hem, hem_ "), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

"The Ministry of Magic," she began.

I rolled my eyes and internally groaned, _Here we go_.

"— has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Professor Bubblegum paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. McGonagall's dark eyebrows contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and I distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Sprout as Umbridge gave another little " _Hem, hem_ " and went on with her speech.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation . . ."

I had already been quite tired from flying around with Finn all afternoon, but Umbridge's little speech was just about doing me in for the night. My eyelids were suddenly very heavy and I could barely even hold my head up, which seemed to be the case for a lot of other students as well, but Umbridge didn't seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, although I was certain it was simply to set a good example.

". . . because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

She sat down and Dumbledore clapped, the staff following his lead, though I noticed several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and some — like myself — simply just chose not to applaud.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge," said Dumbledore, standing up again, "that was most illuminating. Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held . . ."

"This really was the wrong year to transfer," said Finn to me under his breath. "This woman's bound to ruin a thing or two around here."

"You were actually listening?" I asked incredulously, keeping my voice low.

"About as much as you were, I wager," he said, smirking. "But I did happen to catch something like 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged'."

"And don't forget 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'."

"Oi, what does that mean?" Crabbe blankly inquired from across the table.

"The Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts," I said ominously.

"First years, this way!" said Draco, standing up. Everyone in the hall began to do so as well as Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school. "Follow me! First years, over here!"

"Dem, want to meet my brother?" Finn asked me brightly.

"Yeah, of course!" I said fervently, following him as we weaved our way in and out of foot traffic.

"Cal!" Finn called out as we approached his brother; the two met halfway. "Hufflepuff, eh? What'd I tell you?" He held up his hand for a high-five which Callum gave him.

"I was sort of hoping for Gryffindor," Callum admitted, appearing slightly crestfallen. Merlin, he even _sounded_ just like Finn. "I guess the hat didn't think I was brave enough..."

"Whoa, just because you're not in Gryffindor, doesn't mean you're not brave," I said, walking over to him.

Callum's expression brightened.

"Cal, this is —"

"Demetria Harris," he said, extending his hand to me; we shook. "Of course I know who this is!"

I chuckled. "Then trust me — Hufflepuff is a great house to be in," I told him whole-heartedly. "The Sorting Hat even considered putting me in it."

"First years, stay close!" said a girl with a yellow and black prefect badge on her robes. "We're heading off to the common room!"

"All right, we won't keep you any longer," said Finn. "Don't want you getting lost on your first day!"

"See you two around!" Callum called out as we began going our separate ways. "Nice meeting you, Demetria!"

"You too, Callum!"

He marched after the other first years being led by the two Hufflepuff prefects.

"Hurry along!" came a familiar voice behind Finn and I. "We wouldn't want you two getting lost on your first day either!"

"Technically, it's our second day," I said with a smirk before I even turned around, but when I did, I was greeted by Fred and George.

Fred groaned. "We've had to deal with your sass all summer, Princess," he said in jest. "We just wanted to make sure our favorite Scottish friend was adjusting to Hogwarts."

"It's great to see you two again!" said Finn, as the four of us began walking out of the Great Hall.

"Likewise, Finny!" said George amicably. "Word of advice: watch out for that one — she's gotten saucier."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Fred nodded and said, "A very saucy _snake_ ," before winking at me.

"I warned you two I may not be sporting scarlet and gold," I said airily.

"And we've already accepted that," George assured me.

"But, rest assured, it'll take a lot more than a different House to keep us from you," said Fred rather seriously. Granted, he was smiling, but it wasn't a smirk or anything; he was being genuine.

Finn coughed.

"You too, Finn, we missed you the most actually," said Fred in jest, the smirk back in place.

"All right, well George, I don't want to make you break curfew again," I said playfully.

Once, the previous school year, I'd accidentally gotten George a detention for keeping him out past the school's curfew.

"Oi, that's your curfew now too, Tri," he said.

"We'll see you two," said Fred. "If you ever get tired of your Slytherin pals, you know where to find us!"

Indeed, I did. I had a feeling I would be spending quite a bit of time in the Gryffindor common room . . . Perhaps I wouldn't've been cut out to be a prefect, after all.

Speaking of prefects, Finn and I arrived back in the Slytherin common room just after Draco and Pansy had shown the first years where to go.

"Dem," said Draco, approaching us, "you'll want to be a bit more careful about who you socialize with now."

"What're you on about?" I asked reprovingly.

"I know you like hanging around Potter and the Weasleys and that Mudbl —"

"They're my friends," I said indignantly.

"All I'm saying is that it was all right when you two were just the foreign students here for the tournament," Draco continued, darkly, "but now you're officially a part of this school — you're Slytherins — you should really stick with your own kind."

"That's not what the Sorting Hat seems to think, mate," said Finn.

"I'm only trying to help," Draco defended.

And I honestly wasn't sure whether or not he thought he was. Draco was a rather difficult person to read. I knew a part of him that was actually kind and decent, and I knew that part of the reason he could be a prick was because of his father. But I also saw how he treated Harry and the others . . . it reminded me a lot of Nikolai Pavel. Viktor swore Nikolai treated me so poorly because he was jealous of me, and perhaps the same could be said about the way Draco treated Harry.

"I reckon we'll be just fine, thanks," I said sourly.

"Draco's right — Potter's not exactly the crowd favorite anymore, these days," Blaise chimed in. "Haven't you read the _Prophet_?"

"Enough to know that it's all bullshite," I told him, finitely. "The _Prophet_ 's also taking jabs at me — does that mean I can't be associated with either?"

"I dunno how the rest of the world views you," Blaise continued, "but at least around here, the _Prophet_ hasn't damaged your reputation."

"Why not?" I inquired, suddenly feeling very guilty that Harry was the only one facing the consequences of the _Daily Prophet_.

"I reckon everyone just —"

Draco elbowed Blaise in the ribs and shook his head. Something told me my situation was worse than everyone thinking I was a nutter like Harry.

"Everyone pities you," came Pansy, approaching us from over on the couch; her pug face was twisted up into a smirk. "Poor Demetria Harris, losing her boyfriend in the tournament, going mad with grief, wanting all of the attention Potter ge —"

"Shut it, Pansy," someone else snapped — a girl with dark brown eyes and equally dark hair — Daphne Greengrass. "You don't speak for everyone."

Pansy looked as though she were about to say something, but Daphne spoke again and stopped her.

"It's good to see you again, Finn," she said, switching her tone to one of kindness.

"Yeah, you too, Daph," Finn returned, grinning like an idiot; I smirked.

"Well, I'm going up," she said casually. "Demetria, you coming?"

"Uh, sure," I said, gesturing for her to lead. When her back was turned, I mimicked Finn's goofy lovestruck grin and whispered mockingly, " _Daph_."

Finn instantly came down from cloud nine and smacked my arm as I followed Daphne to the dormitory staircases.

"People like Pansy give this house a bad name," said Daphne sourly as we ascended the stairs.

"Pansy, Blaise, usually Draco —"

"All right, practically everyone in Slytherin," she admitted. "But not everyone's like that."

"No, I know," I assured her. "You're not like that."

"Neither are you," she said, opening the door to the fifth year girls' dormitory, "or Finn . . . Neither is Tracey — I dunno if you two've met."

She gestured to a rather short girl (Yes, even shorter than me) with deep blue eyes and blonde hair lighter than my own dirty blonde. She'd been preoccupied with unpacking her trunk until she caught sight of Daphne and I.

"No, I don't reckon we ever got the chance last year," I said.

The girl — Tracey — approached me and extended her hand.

"Tracey Davis," she introduced pleasantly. "It's great to officially meet you."

Someone behind me scoffed. I'd say it was a girl, but given her rather large, square build, I'd say that was up for debate. She had black hair and a heavy, jutting jaw.

"You really shouldn't be associating yourself with people like Davis —" she said, before glancing at Daphne, "— _or_ Greengrass. If you know what's good for you, you won't hang around bloodtraitors at all."

"Well, aren't you a delight," I drawled.

She smirked and reached her massive hand out.

"Millicent Bulstrode."

"Right," I said, eyeing the hand, clearly not intending on shaking it, "well thanks for the advice, Millie, but I reckon I'll associate with whomever I'd like."

Her grin faltered for a moment, her hand dropping back to her side as she whispered under her breath, though loud enough for me to hear.

"We'll see about that."


	6. Chapter 5: Umbridge Attacked

_**Chapter Five**_

 _Umbridge Attacked_

:.:.:

The next morning, I rushed a bit to get ready and leave the dormitory. I wasn't too keen on spending anymore time in there than I had to — not because of Daphne and Tracey, but Pansy and Millicent. Apparently, Finn felt the same way because we met in the common room at about the same time.

"Have you been getting the same shite about sticking with our own house?" he asked me immediately.

I groaned.

"Unfortunately," I said irritably, "but just from two of the four."

"Lucky," said Finn ruefully as we began to ascend from the dungeons, "I'm getting it from four of the five. Theodore Nott's been keeping to himself."

"You mean you've actually heard Crabbe and Goyle speak?" I inquired in disbelief.

"Does grunting their agreement with Draco's comments count?" said Finn; I shook my head. "Fine, then, just two of the five."

"Morning, you two," said Adrian, leaving his group of fellow seventh years and falling back to walk with us. "I thought I heard some familiar voices."

"Hey, mate, got room in your dormitory for one more?" Finn asked desperately.

"I'm afraid not," said Adrian, sounding genuinely sorry for Finn. "The fifth years are that bad, then?"

"What, you haven't noticed?" I asked.

"I don't pay the lot of them much mind," Adrian admitted airily, "and that's exactly why. I dunno why they think themselves so elite, but don't worry — not all of Slytherin is like that."

"I'm just glad you're one of the good ones," I said.

Adrian looked to me with a bit of a curious smirk. I hoped he wasn't about to ask what I meant by that, because I wasn't entirely sure, myself. Luckily, Finn stepped in.

"Is it just the fifth years?"

"It's more likely you'll find people like them in the younger years," Adrian explained, the smirk leaving his face. "The older Slytherins sort of grow out of it and realize how petty it is. Don't get me wrong, though — there are certainly still older Slytherins who are gits, like Montague."

We entered the Great Hall and seated ourselves at our usual spots at the Slytherin table under the miserable, rain-cloud grey enchanted ceiling.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting him yet," said Finn sarcastically.

"If you lot want to try out for the Quidditch team, you will," Adrian told us desolately.

There was a clatter, and hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows, Snape then moving along the table handing out schedules.

"History of Magic," Finn read the first class of the day, "I hear that's painfully boring."

"You mean it wasn't boring at Durmstrang?" asked Draco incredulously.

"No, not really," he said briskly.

"Then you're in for a wake up call," said Blaise.

"More like a nap," jeered Pansy.

Most of the people seated around us laughed.

"Speaking of sleeping," said Millicent, looking at the pug-faced Pansy, "did you hear crying last night?"

I suddenly became very interested in my schedule.

"You heard that too?" said Pansy. "Who d'you — ?"

"Oi, why don't you have double Potions next?" said Draco, leaning over and reading my schedule. I'd never been so happy to have him speak.

"Demetria's too advanced for fifth year Potions," Finn teased.

"Dumbledore insisted I take the seventh year class," I said modestly.

"Ace," said Adrian fervently. "I guess I'll be seeing you this afternoon."

"Thank Merlin, I'll know someone," I said, relieved.

"What d'you mean?" said Finn with a chuckle. "You'll know Fred and George."

The truth was that I'd completely forgotten the twins were seventh years — it felt as though we attended entirely different schools. It didn't even feel that way when we actually _did_ attend entirely different schools.

Regardless, I noticed Adrian's smile fade, and said, "Right, but they've got each other, and what if we need to partner up?"

Adrian's grin had returned and I mirrored it.

"Oh, c'mon, you're not taking Divination?" Finn whined, leaning in from my other side to read my schedule too.

"Absolutely not," I said listlessly. "That woman is mad, and I have absolutely no interest in _seeing with my Inner Eye_ ," I said, mocking Trelawney's theatrics; everyone snickered. "Besides it's during my Potions class."

"Suit yourself," said Finn with a smirk, "but if you need help reading your tea leaves later 'cause you reckon you've seen the Grim, don't come crying to me."

When Finn and I were sitting in our very first Hogwarts class, I found myself wishing I _had_ seen the Grim. The others hadn't been exaggerating — listening to Professor Binns was a fate worse than death. He was a ghost with a wheezy, droning voice that was practically guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness. Thankfully, Finn and I managed to keep one another awake and take some notes — not that I was necessarily hoping to move on to N.E.W.T. level, but that didn't mean I had to do poorly on the exam.

It was really a shame that Binns was so dreadfully boring, because given the right teacher, History of Magic could actually be quite an interesting class. It had always been one of my favorites at Durmstrang . . . I found myself really missing my old professor for it, and hoped not every class at Hogwarts would be this painful.

When the bell rang, Finn and I parted ways. He was off to double Potions and I to double Arithmancy with the sixth years. I only hoped I would be able to keep up, after all, the only reason Dumbledore moved me up was so that I could take the advanced Potions class.

Thankfully, I'd always been rather good at Arithmancy — it was like a form of Divination I could actually get behind, based on logic and numbers. And I was even more grateful that Professor Vector was not boring — definitely strict, but there certainly wouldn't be any falling asleep in her class.

I was also glad there wasn't any time for my mind to wander . . . and think about —

The bell rang for lunch.

"So how goes the first day of classes?" Daphne asked as we entered the Great Hall at the same time.

"It was a rough start, but it's not bad," I told her.

"Dem!" came Finn, rushing over. "You should've been in our Potions cla — Hey, Daphne!"

Daphne laughed and said, "Hello, Finn."

Finn looked as though he'd completely forgotten what he was about to say as we approached the Slytherin table.

"Finn . . . ?" I said. "Your Potions class?"

"The Golden Boy can't even brew a proper Draught of Peace potion," Draco sneered, the typical crowd laughing, but not Adrian.

"Does Adrian usually sit with you guys?" I asked Daphne quietly as she took the seat beside me, Finn on my other side.

"Are you kidding?" she said, smirking. "He's only sitting here to talk to _you_."

And there he was, seated right across from me, with his short, brown hair and light blue eyes. He smiled at me.

"Quite the looker, isn't he?" Daphne whispered.

My gaze shot back to her.

"I-I wasn't —"

"Only joking, Demetria," she assured me.

I instantly felt guilt creep in and rest itself like a giant weight on my chest. How could I have even thought — Well, I wasn't sure what I thought — But it was no secret that Adrian was incredibly good looking . . . and yes, Cedric had told me to live my life, to move on, and love again . . . but so _soon_? How could I possibly feel what I felt for him all over again with someone else?

All right, perhaps that was a bit dramatic . . . I just wanted to talk to someone about those feelings, but I was sure no one would want to hear it . . . Lately, I had all of my emotions bottling up right at the surface, ready to explode any instant. I felt like a bloody time bomb, but did my best to push everything down and bury it all away. After all, if I went around acting how I was truly feeling, I'd end up like Harry.

Harry had become noticeably hostile and tempermental since the tournament. That, in combination with the shite the _Prophet_ was saying about him, made people almost fear him. And considering people — though apparently not everyone —already felt sorry enough for me, the last thing I needed was to walk around weepy and depressed.

When the bell rang again to signal the start of afternoon classes, Finn and the others headed for Divination, while Adrian and I walked to Potions.

There wasn't much time to socialize with the twins during this class, or with anyone, really. I helped Adrian out a bit, though he couldn't've really needed my help too badly considering he'd made it to N.E.W.T. level Potions.

Regardless, when the bell went again, Adrian and I parted ways and I met up with Finn, Ron, and Harry before entering the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Something tells me I'm going to hate this class most of all," said Finn desolately.

"You mean you didn't absolutely _love_ Divination?" I asked sarcastically.

Ron and Harry groaned and walked through the doorway, Hermione appearing then, clearly from another class.

"That Trelawney woman's off her rocker," she said in a lofty tone.

"I tried to warn you, Winifinn," I teased, the three of us making our way into the classroom.

Umbridge was already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan from the past two nights and the black velvet bow on top of her head. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be. Although, if I had to venture a guess, coming from the Ministry . . . she was bound to be a real bi —

"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Umbridge. " _That_ won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the class chanted back at her, my voice not among them.

"There, now," she said sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

I noticed most of the class exchange gloomy looks as we all retrieved quill, ink, and parchment. Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

 _ **Defense Against the Dark Arts**_

 _ **A Return to Basic Principles**_

"Well, now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" started Umbridge, turning to face us with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum. has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

 _ **Course aims:**_

 _ **1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.**_

 _ **2\. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.**_

 _ **3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.**_

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When we'd all copied down the course aims, Umbridge said, "Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge. It took everything in me not to release a long groan. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang throughout the room.

"Good," said Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing us all with her pouchy toad eyes.

I sat there, astounded that this was how we were going to be learning. If this was all it took to teach a class, _I_ could've been the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor! I didn't even so much as touch my textbook, and instead I looked around to find Hermione was doing the same. She'd actually neglected to read and was staring fixedly at Umbridge; I joined her.

Several silent minutes ticked by, but when more than half the class was staring at Hermione and I rather than their books, Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dears?" she asked Hermione and I.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end —"

"I've actually got a quick query about your course aims," I said directly.

"I do too," said Hermione quickly.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"Demetria Harris, I presume?" she said before looking to Hermione. "And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger," she said.

"Well, Miss Harris, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

" _Using_ defensive spells?" Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation in my classroom that would require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" said Ron loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back to him. Hermione, Harry, and I all immediately raised our hands too. Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry and I for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but —"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"

"What use is that?" Harry demanded loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

" _Hand_ , Mr. Potter!" sang Umbridge.

Harry thrust his fist in the air but Umbridge promptly turned away. Several other people had their hands up too, including Finn.

"And your name is?" Umbridge said to him.

"Finn Archer."

"Well, Mr. Archer?"

"I reckon what Harry was trying to say, is that if we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —"

"I repeat," said Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Finn, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"I'm not going to rule out the possibility by saying —"

Umbridge talked over him.

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching over her wide mouth, "and I do not know how they run their classes over in Norway," she looked between Finn and I, "but the children here have all been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"Remus Lupin is a good man, and —"

" _Hand_ , Miss Harris! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just —"

" _Your hand is not up, Miss Granger_!"

But when Hermione put up her hand, Umbridge turned away from her.

"Care to hear how it's been done in Norway?" I rushed out before Umbridge could yell at me, and I'd already thrown my hand up in the air.

"Not particularly," she said, her tone like honey over shards of ice, "we are, after all, not in Norway are we, Miss Harris?"

"But Durmstrang Institute is one of the most advanced and successful Wizarding schools —"

"Then perhaps you would like to return to it," she pressed, voice on edge before she returned to her falsely sweet tone. "Now then, it is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them _on_ you —"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean Thomas hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads —"

" _Your hand is not up, Mr._ — ?"

"Thomas."

My fist was still in the air.

"That wasn't even a professor," I said irritably. "That was a Death Eater posing as —"

But Umbridge spoke over me.

"It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Daphne, whose hand had just shot up.

"Daphne Greengrass, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"

I couldn't refrain myself any longer, I'd actually released a long, loud groan. Umbridge actually stopped speaking, though I'd expected her to simply talk over it as she did with everyone else, and stared at me.

"Is there a problem, Miss Harris?" She was clearly struggling to keep herself in check. I, on the other hand, was no longer doing any such thing.

"The problem is that theory isn't going to do a fat lot of good when we're in the real world," I challenged.

"This is school, Miss Harris, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?" said Harry, fist in the air.

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?" said Harry.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Hmm, let's think . . ." said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice, "maybe —"

" _Lord Voldemort_?" We'd both chorused.

Some students gave different reactions of shock. Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring between Harry and I with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

"Ten points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin."

My temper was growing dangerously close to reaching boiling point the more this woman spoke. I could feel my Light surging throughout my fingertips, Finn looking down at my hands as they began to spark with the electricity-like magic.

"Now, let me make a few things plain," said Umbridge, standing up and leaning toward us. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large again. _This is a lie_."

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_ —"

"Reckon the almighty Cornelius Fudge told you to say that, did he?" I said indignantly.

" _Miss Harris_ —"

"'Cause the Ministry's decided to just roll over and play dumb, rather than — !"

"Detention, Miss Harris!" said Umbridge, still smiling. "How about we make yours tonight? Five o'clock. My office."

"You think I'm scared of a detention?!" I knew Finn was urging me to stop, but I couldn't. "Give me another! I don't care! Harry and I saw Lord Voldemort!"

"It's true!" said Harry.

"The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Umbridge sat down behind her desk again but I watched Harry stand up.

"Harry, no!" I heard Hermione whisper to him warningly.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked.

I stopped. Stopped what? Everything. I didn't move my eyes from Umbridge, I didn't even breathe . . . I felt the electricity in my hands subside for a moment . . . until she started speaking again.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident —"

I stood up —

"It was MURDER!"

— and that was it, the last straw. The Light flashed from my palms, and though I'd quickly tried to direct them upward, Umbridge was hit and sent flying backwards. There was a collective intake of breath from the class; Finn was looking to me with sorrow, but nearly everyone else looked at me as though I were Voldemort, himself. When Umbridge had collected herself and moved back to her desk, she burned her gaze into me. I thought she would scream, but she spoke in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice.

"Come here, Miss Harris, dear."

I kicked my chair aside and marched right up to her desk, still fuming. Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that I couldn't see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so, she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that I couldn't open it.

"Take this to Professor Snape, dear," said Umbridge, holding out the note to me.

I plastered a giant smirk on my face and matched her forcibly sweet tone when saying, "Yes, Professor Umbridge."

Just as I was about to leave the room, however, I heard Harry say, "So about not being attacked in your classroom . . ."

My smirk became genuine, then, and I knew Harry was sure to take over for me and give her hell. But as I continued on my way to the dungeons, anger crept back in, the Light threatening to burst from my hands again, but I didn't allow it to.

Finally, I arrived at Snape's office and knocked on the door.

"Enter," he drawled from the other side; I did. "Demetria, shouldn't you be in class?"

"Didn't realize we were on a first name basis now," I said in an attempt to lighten my own mood; Snape was not amused. "I was told to give you this." I handed him the note.

Snape slit open the parchment with a tap of his wand, stretched it out, and began to read. His eyes zoomed from side to side as he read what Umbridge had written, and with each line they became narrower, until he'd presumably finished and looked to me silently for a moment.

"Is this true?" he asked.

"I dunno, what's it say?" I said more aggressively than I'd intended. "Snape," I added to sound more polite, but then corrected myself, "— er, Professor."

"Is it true that you attacked Professor Umbridge?"

I rolled my eyes and released a breath of cynical laughter. " _Attacked_ ," I sneered.

"Demetria," said Snape impatiently.

"I didn't mean to," I defended, though rather airily — probably because I knew it was useless. "It was my Light — It happens when I get really angry."

Snape didn't speak for a moment, glancing back at the note and then to me.

"You also shouted at her, insulted both the Ministry and its Minister of Magic, and told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned?"

"Yes."

"Demetria, have a seat," he said; I did. "It would be wise for you to behave yourself in Dolores Umbridge's class."

"Snape — ugh — _Professor_ , I —"

"If this happens again, it may very well cost you much more than House points and detention," he pressed rather urgently.

When I continued to stare curiously, he continued.

"You know where she comes from, you undoubtedly are aware of to whom she is reporting."

"Almighty Fudge," I said quietly with a roll of my eyes.

"Demetria, trust me."

He didn't need to say anything else. I nodded, trusting him just as he had done with me on the very night of the third task when I told him that Barty Crouch Jr. was posing as Alastor Moody.

"It also says she's given you detention every evening this week starting tonight," read Snape, "upon your request."

"In my defense, I only asked to be given _another_ detention, not another four," I said listlessly.

Snape did not appear amused.

"The consequences could have — and should have — been far worse," he drawled. "Carlisle was right — you certainly are a thorn in one's side."

"Carlisle?" I parroted, immediately perking up with interest. "You've spoken to him?"

I thought, at first, Snape had a slip of the tongue, but figured it must've been on purpose considering his expression hadn't faltered in the slightest.

"He wished for you to know that he is still alive — that is all," said Snape. "Understand I cannot be the messenger owl between you two. It is too dangerous."

"No, of course, I understand," I said, crestfallen.

The bell rang for the end of the lesson.

"Remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge," said Snape, standing; I followed suit.

"Professor," I said just before we left his office, "thank you."

Snape nodded, knowing what that information meant to me, and he led the way up out of the dungeons.


	7. Chapter 6: Cut and Healed

_**Chapter Six**_

 _Cut and Healed_

:.:.:

"Let me guess," said Harry, the two of us arriving at the Great Hall for dinner at the same time, "detention every night this week?"

"You too?" I said.

Harry nodded. "She sent me to McGonagall's office."

When we walked into the Hall, nearly everyone stopped what they'd been doing to stare at us and whisper. Even when Harry and I parted ways and sat at our own House tables, the whispers seemed to divide up evenly. I heard some people talking about Harry yelling at Umbridge, how he thought he fought Voldemort, how he was basically mental . . . and I also heard people talk about me and how I'd completely lost it, how I'd attacked Umbridge, how I was a loose canon because I was so emotional over Cedric's death — that last bit wasn't too far off from the truth . . . But even so, people still felt bad for me. Pansy was right: they pitied me. They thought I was insane —

I took a seat at the Slytherin table and a few students who were sitting nearby, got up and moved.

— and dangerous.

"Yeah, smart move!" I called after them mockingly. "I might just blast the next person who glances my way!"

More people moved.

I groaned and stood up rather abruptly, causing more people to scramble to relocate. One of them — a tiny first year, by the look of it — even reached for his wand. His bloody wand! I marched right out of the Great Hall without so much as a glance around. My first day at Hogwarts and already I'd wished for nothing more than to be back at Durmstrang.

"What d'you mean, you're not sure they believed Dumbledore?" I heard Harry ask, he, Hermione, and Ron all having left the Hall too; Finn appeared at my side.

"Look, you don't understand what it was like after it happened," said Hermione quietly. "You and Demetria arrived back in the middle of the lawn, you were clutching Cedric's dead body . . . None of us saw what happened in the maze . . . We just had Dumbledore's word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you."

"Which is the truth!" said Harry loudly. The trio still hadn't taken notice of Finn and I as they reached the first-floor landing.

"I know it is, Harry, so will you _please_ stop biting my head off?" said Hermione wearily. "It's just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you're a nutcase, Demetria's desperate for attention, and Dumbledore's going senile!"

They hadn't said anything else, but even if they had, they'd gotten too far for me to hear them . . . though I wasn't sure I would've wanted to anyway.

After a moment, I turned to Finn.

"What did _you_ think when you saw Harry and I come back with Cedric's body?" I asked quietly.

Finn looked to me in disbelief.

"Demetria," he said gravely, "I didn't think you _did_ it . . . or Harry! I just knew something terrible must've happened . . ."

I was looking right into his sea green eyes, hoping they weren't hiding something from me.

"So you believe us?"

"Absolutely," said Finn whole-heartedly.

I walked off to where we used to have to enter the castle from the grounds, looking out on to the Black Lake and half-expecting to see the great skeletal-looking ship of Durmstrang sitting on it.

"It was a mistake coming back," I said, voice distant even in my own ears.

Finn didn't respond, simply came and stood beside me, also gazing out onto the lake.

"Things were great last year," I continued quietly, "but everything's changed now. I should've known it wouldn't be the same."

"Things'll turn back around," Finn softly offered. "Just give it time —"

"I'm giving it time," I continued desolately. "All I've got is time . . . endless amounts of time so that I can sit back and think about Cedric, and how every time I'm in another part of this bloody castle, I can think back on when I was there with hi —"

"Dem, it's okay," said Finn, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I know. You don't have to talk about him."

Translated: I don't want to hear you talk about him.

Think what you'd like, but the way I saw it: even your closest friends will only care to hear you vent about the same sodding problem up until a certain point. Maybe it's because it makes them feel bad because they can't offer up any advice or help things get better for you, but maybe there's also just a part of them that's genuinely tired of hearing you repeat yourself over and over again. That's why I'd given up on trying to talk to anyone about Cedric . . . No one would let me anyway.

"You two all right?" I heard George ask.

Finn and I turned and saw Fred slap his twin's arm.

"'Course not," he whispered before turning his attention to us. "Dem, we just want you to know, we're not doing business with anyone who thinks you're barmy."

George then swatted _him_ in the gut.

"What's the matter with you?" he said fiercely in a hushed voice. "How's that supposed to make her feel better?"

"I'll take it from here," said Lee Jordan, rolling his eyes. "D'you two want to come hang out in the Gryffindor common room?"

"We're about to test out some products on a couple of first years," said Fred fervently.

"I wish I could, but I've got detention with Umbridge," I said darkly.

"Oh, right . . ." said Fred desolately.

I checked my watch.

"I should actually get going," I sighed.

"For what it's worth, we're on your side," Lee offered.

"And we're glad you're here," added George. It made me wonder how long they'd been standing behind Finn and I.

Yes, there was a part of me that was glad I was there too . . . but I also couldn't help thinking I would feel more at home back in Norway, all alone, rather than being here at Hogwarts surrounded by all these people I knew . . .

I made my way up to Umbridge's office on the third floor, knocked on the door, and was greeted by her sugary voice saying, "Come in." I entered cautiously, looking around, and was suddenly very thankful I hadn't eaten dinner because it surely would've all come back up.

Every surface in the room had been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. It was worse than Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop . . . or, at least, I imagined so, considering I'd never actually been there.

"Good evening, Miss Harris."

I hadn't noticed Umbridge at first because her ghastly set of robes blended in too well with her office's decor.

"Evening," I said reluctantly.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table in front of it, apparently waiting for me. I took a seat.

"My, my, such obedience," said Umbridge sweetly; my blood began to boil. "I daresay there is hope for you yet. Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me. No, not with your quill," she added as I went to retrieve a quill from my schoolbag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed me a long, thin, black quill with an unusually sharp point.

"I want you to write ' _I must not tell lies_ ,'" she said softly.

 _That_ was what she was most concerned about? Never mind the fact that I'd attacked her — No, she was most upset by my saying Voldemort had returned.

"How many times?" I asked with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to _sink in_ ," she said sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. That was when I noticed something was missing.

"I'll need ink," I said.

"Oh, no you won't," said Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

I placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: _I must not tell lies_ , but immediately let out a gasp of pain. I noticed the words appearing on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of my right hand, carved into my skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as I stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

I turned to Umbridge. She was watching me, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched into a smile.

"Yes?"

And though I really wanted to give a sarcastically polite response, I remembered what Snape had told me about behaving myself, and refrained from doing so.

"Nothing," I said quietly, and returned to writing.

Again, I felt the searing pain on the back of my hand and once again, the words had been cut into my skin, healing over seconds later. On and on it went. Again and again I wrote the words on the parchment in what I came to realize was my own blood. And again and again the words were carved into the back of my hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time I set the quill to parchment.

Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window but I didn't ask when I would be allowed to stop. I didn't even so much as check my watch, for I knew Umbridge was watching me, looking for signs of weakness and I was not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing any from me.

"Come here," she said, after what seemed like hours.

I got up and walked over.

"Hand," she said.

I extended my right hand and she examined it: the cut had healed, but the skin there was red raw.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

I left without a word.

–

The following day held four brand new classes, the first of the morning being Double Charms succeeded by double Transfiguration — two classes I was rather good at. Both professors spent a great deal of time lecturing on the importance of O.W.L.s, though I didn't mind all that much because I liked them both. Professor Flitwick was the small, part-Goblin Charms professor, and he was rather pleasant. Then for Transfiguration, we had McGonagall, who I'd already taken a liking to the previous year. And since both Hermione and I were able to successfully use the Vanishing Spell in her class today, she did not assign us homework.

On the subject of homework, I constantly heard my fellow fifth years complaining that there was an abundance of homework because it was O.W.L. year, although Finn and I (Well, and Hermione) disagreed. In fact, compared to the usual homework load at Durmstrang, the amount we'd received so far could actually be considered rather light.

Another difference was that Durmstrang's Care of Magical Creatures class was more of a lecture-styled class, whereas at Hogwarts, I was told theirs was more . . . up close and personal.

"Grigor would've loved this," I said to Finn as we walked down the sloping lawn toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The day was cool and breezy, one able to feel the occasional rain drop on their face. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for all of us some ten yards from what I'd assumed to be Hagrid's hut. That was when I realized, I hadn't seen Hagrid around . . . The previous year, I'd seen him sitting up at the staff table every day.

"Oi, Harry," I said as Finn and I approached the crowd of students, "where's Hagrid?"

"Maybe the great, stupid oaf's gotten himself injured," said Draco, loud enough so Harry could hear.

He was making his way over with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Millicent, all of whom were sniggering heartily.

"Maybe _you_ will if you don't shut up," Harry challenged.

"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Let's crack on then — who can tell me what these things are called?"

She indicated the heap of twig-looking creatures in front of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Draco did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be tiny pixieish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand, and a funny, flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Oooooh!" said Parvati and Lavender.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. "So — anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are bowtruckles and, as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

Finn looked over to me expectantly.

"Nothing from Durmstrang's brightest?" he teased.

"Care of Magical Creatures was always Grigor's class. I hadn't even signed up for it last year," I admitted, keeping my voice low.

"Wood lice," said Hermione promptly, which explained why the brown rice was moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will gouge out human eyes with —"

"Sounds like Demetria," Pansy quietly jeered.

There were a few snickers, but I didn't pay attention to any of them. Finn, however, seeming to think I would get angry, reached down and grabbed my hand, holding it in case I shot Light from it.

I was relieved it was my left hand because I hadn't told him about the stinging injury on my right . . .

"— very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs," continued Professor Grubbly-Plank. "So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few wood lice and a bowtruckle — I have enough here for one between three — you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson."

"Hear that, Finn? You'll have to let go of your girlfriend's hand," Millicent sneered.

"Millicent, don't say that," said Pansy, feigning outrage. "Now Demetria's going to cry herself to sleep again."

They'd figured out where the crying was coming from at night . . .

Finn held on to my hand as we observed the bowtruckle that Tracey was holding. That was when I overheard Harry ask Professor Grubbly-Plank where Hagrid was.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too _big_ for him, if you get my drift," said Draco, smirking.

Tracey gestured for Finn and I to follow her as we distanced ourselves from the others and began trying to sketch the bowtruckle.

"Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid," I heard Hermione say to Harry. "It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried, it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face . . ."

"Yes," came Draco's clear drawl from the group near both Harry's and my own, "Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron _does_ show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."

"OUCH!"

Harry was holding his hand in pain, Crabbe and Goyle laughing at the sight. I released Finn's hand and rushed over to Harry as the bell echoed distantly over the grounds. The bowtruckle had swiped at his hand and left two long deep cuts there. I wasn't sure what I could do for him, but I was holding his hand, examining the injury while I tried to figure something out.

"Demi, get your hands off him," Draco practically scolded me, reaching out to pull me away.

I pushed him back, still keeping my grip on Harry's hand.

"Why don't you just get out of here, Draco?" I said calmly.

"Why do you insist on associating with bloodtraitors and Mudbloods?"

I noticed Hermione hold Ron back.

"Struck a nerve, have I, Weasel?" said Draco darkly, with a smirk.

"Just listen to Demetria and get out of here, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth.

"Crabbe — Goyle — Would you look at that?" Draco continued. "He's getting just about as red as his hair."

As the three of them all laughed, I could no longer see the innocent bloke I'd gotten to know over the years. All this time, I'd thought Draco was simply misunderstood like myself, and perhaps this was all a show because of his father, but I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Draco just piss off, all right?" I snapped.

"Demetria," said Harry quietly beside me; I ignored him.

"I've always defended you and your family when people drag your name through the mud —"

"Ow, Demetria —"

"— but I'm done making excuses for you, because the truth is, you're just bloody terrible people and —"

"Dem —"

"What?!" I shouted at Harry, rather exasperated.

But when I finally turned to him, I saw what I'd been missing — my hand was glowing golden around Harry's, and when I pulled it away, his two cuts had vanished.

"How did you — ?" said Ron, shocked.

"I have no idea," I admitted, also rather taken aback.

"D'you reckon it's your Light?" Finn inquired.

I turned my palm up and caught a glimpse of something I'd never noticed before — my hand was still glowing a bit and held the same symbol I'd seen on my mother's locket, but it was just for a second because it had already started to fade along with the faint glow.

"C'mon, we'd better get to Herbology," said Hermione, gesturing for us all to hurry to the greenhouse.

I followed, though still sort of in shock, and once we'd arrived, Harry turned back to me.

"Thank you, by the way," he said.

"Yeah, no problem," I told him, distracted.

Just as I'd expected, Professor Sprout started the lesson by lecturing us about the importance of O.W.L.s, and by the end of it, we had another essay to write for homework. Finn had suggested that I should go see Dumbledore and tell him about what I could only assume was another of my Lumen powers, but I had my second detention with Umbridge, and I didn't want to skip dinner this time.

I didn't eat much though, and I was sort of preoccupied with trying to conceal the back of my right hand with my robe sleeve.

At five to five, Harry and I left the Great Hall and set off for Umbridge's office. "What'd she have you do?" he asked me.

"Lines," I said blankly.

I considered telling Harry, warning him, but I realized it wouldn't do any good.

"That's not too bad then," he said with a glimmer of hope.

We didn't speak again until reaching Umbridge's office. For me, it had already become a routine: I knocked, she said to come in, told us to have a seat, and I sat down. This time, however, there were two chairs placed at the table. Harry didn't sit.

"Er," said Harry, without moving. "Professor Umbridge? Er — before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a . . . a favor."

I wondered why he was suddenly so nervous, when I'd seen him fearlessly argue with her just a day ago. Perhaps McGonagall had given him the same speech that Snape gave to me.

"Oh yes?" said Umbridge, her bulging eyes narrowing.

"Well I'm . . . I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was — was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it — do it another night . . . instead . . ."

I was sure Harry knew as well as I did that it was hopeless before he'd even reached the end of his sentence.

"Oh no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely I thought her lips might actually snap like a rubber band. "Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishment certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

Harry sat down in the chair next to me.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now then, Miss Harris, I assume you know what to do?"

She handed me the Blood Quill.

"I must not tell lies," I recited listlessly.

"Very good, you may begin," she said before handing Harry a quill as well. "Mr. Potter, you will be writing the same thing: ' _I must not tell lies_.'"

"How many times?" he asked, clearly trying to keep his irritation in check.

"Miss Harris?"

I'd already begun writing but was keeping my wincing quiet.

"As long as it takes for the message to sink in," I recited again, voice distant.

I'd had forgotten how much it had truly hurt, having the words inscribed on the back of my hand only to be smoothed over, the skin growing even more irritated now. But I was able to keep any moans of pain under control. Harry, however, allowed his first to come as a gasp just as I'd done. He remained silent after this, however.

The routine continued: darkness came, Umbridge checked our hands, and I left without a word. Harry and I didn't even speak to one another as we walked slowly up the corridor. The whole time I was covering the raw skin on the back of my right hand with my left, thinking back on all the things that had angered me.

When Harry and I had rounded the corner, we stopped, noticing my hands glowing golden, and when I removed the hand that was covering the injury, it was gone . . . but only for a second. The words then carved themselves back into my hand.

–

The next few days passed by in a blur. I hadn't spoken much to anyone and was focusing on my homework, but once I'd finished it (and rather quickly), I made up my own assignments and simply worked on those. I just wanted to keep myself busy, to keep my mind off of anything revolving around Cedric, Grandad, my Light, or even the sodding message on the back of my hand. And by the time Harry and I had finished Wednesday night's detention with Umbridge, that message was becoming much more prominent, as it continued to become more inflamed.

By my fourth detention, Harry's third, he was also finding the words were now etched across the back of his hand. For me, however, as I had begun to write, the inscription reopened and bled afresh. Tiny droplets of blood dotted my parchment.

"Well, it seems Miss Harris has gotten the message," said Umbridge, clearly very pleased. "You are dismissed, and also excused from your detention tomorrow. Mr. Potter, continue writing."

I dunno why but I felt bad leaving Harry there . . . although, it was quite a relief knowing that I'd just had my last detention with that dreadful toad of a woman. The only downside, I found, was that it was still fairly early, so I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I didn't really want to speak with anyone and it was too early to go to sleep, not that I'd been sleeping very well (or very much) anyway. I just felt so trapped in my own head and I wasn't sure how to break fr —

"UGH!"

I'd collided with something . . . or someone . . . and ended up on the ground.

"Your Highness, I'm so sorry!"

Yep, some _one_ . . .

Fred and George were immediately on either side of me, helping me to my feet.

"Please don't banish my brother from the kingdom!" George pleaded teasingly. "It was an accident!"

They'd been laughing about it until they noticed I wasn't, I wasn't even smiling. And I hadn't noticed that until they'd stopped laughing, eyeing me with concern, so I throw on a fake smile, but it didn't help.

"Dem, what's wrong?" Fred asked, his face looking out of character without a mischievous grin.

"I, er, just finished another detention with Umbridge," I explained blankly.

"Oh right, what'd she have you do?" said George.

"Lines."

The back of my right hand suddenly seared with pain as though that were its cue.

"Well that's not too bad," Fred brightly offered. "And you've only got one day left, right?"

"Actually she sort of let me off the hook early," I said, forcing myself to sound happy about it. I _was_ , I just couldn't seem to show much emotion at the moment. "Tonight was my last one."

"Ace!" George said fervently. "Hey, would you like to do us an ickle favor?"

"Er, sure."

"Hermione's really been cracking down on us about testing the Skiving Snackboxes on first years," Fred explained, annoyed. "Would you mind maybe taking some and testing some Slytherin first years?"

"We've tested them ourselves," George immediately chimed in, "we just need to know if —"

"Sure, no problem," I said, quickly etching a smile across my face when they eyed me curiously.

"You're sure you're all right?" asked George, he and his twin growing worried again.

"Yeah, just tired," I assured them. It was sort of true though. "I haven't been sleeping well lately. I keep having nightmares about that night in the graveyard."

It was silent for a moment because neither of the twins knew what to say, and then — as I'd expected — the subject was changed.

"Let's get you some Snackboxes, eh?" said Fred, leading the way to Gryffindor Tower.


	8. Ch 7: The Stupidity of Cornelius Fudge

_**Chapter Seven**_

 _The Stupidity of Cornelius Fudge_

:.:.:

My first week as a Hogwarts student drew to a close the next day . . . and I felt terrible. I was sleep-deprived on account of constantly being haunted by the memory of Cedric and the thought that I'd never see Grandad again, I was still in a significant amount of pain from the carving on the back of my hand, I was lonely on account of the fact that no one wanted to actually talk about what was on my mind, and I was so emotional over all of these things that my Lumen powers were becoming harder and harder to control, and it seemed Dumbledore had forgotten about finding someone to help train me in doing so. I couldn't bother him with this, however, because I knew he was bound to have a lot on his plate at the moment with the Order of the Phoenix.

That evening, I rounded up a few first years in the common room in order to test out Fred and George's sweets on them. Most of them were still intimidated by me (or, more likely, just afraid of me) so it didn't take much convincing on my part for them to try the Snackboxes.

Once it was over and I'd recorded the results, I figured I'd deliver the news to the twins, but just as I was about to leave the dungeons, Adrian stopped me.

"Hey, you all right?" he inquired with concern.

I wasn't sure if it had been obvious to anyone that I wasn't feeling like myself lately, because no one really asked me about it. Probably because they already assumed it was Cedric-related.

"No," I said simply, airily.

I made a move to leave the common room, but he blocked me.

"Whoa, hang on," he said, sort of laughing. "No? What's wrong?"

"You don't want to hear it," I insisted.

I saw it click for him.

"Cedric?" he said softly.

I nodded. That was part of it.

"D'you want to talk about it?" he said sincerely.

"You don't mean that," I said listlessly, "but thank you anyway."

"I do mean it," he said, taken aback. "Why else would I offer?"

I stood there just sort of staring at him for a moment, surprised.

"I dowant to talk about it," I told him.

Adrian walked over to two chairs and gestured for me to join him.

"Just stop me when you get bored, all right?" I said, only half-joking.

"I won't get bored," he assured me.

And much to my surprise, he really didn't. We sat off in the corner of the common room, and he listened intently as I just . . . vented . . . It felt so good to finally be talking to someone about it. It felt as though something poisonous was being extracted from my mind, a weight was being lifted off my chest. When I finally finished saying everything I wanted to, I found myself genuinely smiling.

"Thank you so much, Adrian," I told him whole-heartedly.

"You don't have to thank me," he insisted, sort of surprised. "I'm always here if you need to talk. I'm just sorry I didn't have much to say."

"Don't be sorry!" I said fervently. "I'm just so glad someone actually listened."

"You mean someone other than Finn," said Adrian, and he'd been smiling until he realized I wasn't any longer. "You haven't spoken to Finn about any of this?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I've tried . . . sort of . . . I don't really think people want to hear it."

"Well I'll hear it as many times as you'd like to tell it," he said kindly.

I smiled again.

"I really appreciate that," I said.

And as I continued to smile at Adrian, who was smiling back at me, I realized something: I missed that feeling of being in love with someone . . . wanting to be with someone, and when you were, just knowing you were safe with them . . . being happy with someone . . . I hadn't felt much of anything recently, but there was something about Adrian that was so comforting. However, I wasn't sure if I really had feelings for him or if I just wished I did . . . I found him attractive, certainly, and I liked being with him . . . Wasn't that all it took to have feelings for someone?

"Oy, Pucey!" called a heavily built bloke from across the common room. He made his way over. "This the one you were telling me about?"

"Yeah," said Adrian. "Demetria, this is Graham Montague — Captain of our Quidditch team."

"I'm holding tryouts tomorrow morning," Montague told me, "and we only need to fill the position of both Beaters, but I'm making an exception for you, Harris. Besides, everyone'll be cross with me if I don't have the daughter of the Tutshill Tornado legacy try out for Chaser."

"Warrington's going to be livid when he doesn't get back his spot on the team," Adrian warned him.

"You're so sure it's going to be Warrington?" Montague challenged. "Could be you, Pucey."

"Does that mean you'll be trying out too?" he asked with a smirk.

Montague laughed. "Of course not," he said. "I'm the Captain. Flint chose me to take over, I'm not getting replaced."

"Lay off, Adrian," I said in jest. "He's obviously afraid I'll take his spot."

Montague looked to me gravely before grinning slyly. "All right, I'll tryout too. You beat Pucey and or Warrington — you take their spot on the team. You beat _me_ — you take my spot, and you're also the new Captain."

He extended his massive and hairy forearm toward me.

"Deal?" he said.

I shook his hand.

"Deal."

–

"You really think he'll follow through and make you Captain if you beat him?" Finn asked me the following morning as we walked out onto the Quidditch pitch.

The sun had just barely risen into the sky, which was earlier than I cared to wake up, but I'd actually gotten a rather decent night's sleep — and a dreamless sleep, at that.

"You mean _when_ I beat him?" I said, half-jokingly with a smirk.

I was feeling much better, not one hundred percent, but talking to Adrian really helped.

"Honestly though, no," I told Finn. "Maybe if this were Gryffindor or — well, any other House, really, but we're dealing with a bunch of snakes — literally."

Finn and I joined the others on the field and I quickly noticed that I was the only girl in sight. There were five blokes clad in green and silver uniforms — Adrian, Draco, Montague, a bloke I assumed was Cassius Warrington and another I didn't recognize — and then three potential Beaters, not including Finn — two of which were Crabbe and Goyle. I hadn't pegged them as the Quidditch type, but they probably just wanted to follow Draco around some more and figured Beaters would be their best bet considering their size. They were equally as large as nearly any of the gorillas I'd attended Durmstrang with.

"Welcome," said Montague blandly once it was clear no one else would be joining us. "Glad you all could make it. Today, we're looking for two new Beaters to fill the shoes of Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, and considering their skill level — or lack thereof — I'm not looking for much."

This comment seemed to make a rather small boy physically relax. My guess was that he was about a second year.

"We do — however — have a supposedly talented Quidditch player in our midst today," Montague continued, though this time he spoke with bitterness. "Perhaps you will recognize Demetria Harris from last year's Triwizard Tournament — the daughter of Tutshill Tornado legacy, Aiden Harris."

The youngest looking boy appeared rather intimidated.

"Not to worry though, gents," Montague assured the others, "Harris isn't trying out for Beater. She will be competing with Pucey, Warrington, and I for a spot as Chaser on the team."

"And . . . ?" Adrian prompted after a moment.

Montague rolled his eyes.

" _And_ if she bests me, I have agreed to hand over my role as Captain as well," he said reluctantly.

Everyone appeared surprised, as though they really expected Montague to go through with it.

In order to choose the Beaters, Montague divided us into two teams and we played a small game of Quidditch. Being that the focus was not on scoring or catching the Golden Snitch, however, the Keeper — who I'd learned was Miles Bletchley — and Draco were used as Chasers alongside me. We also had Finn and the second year boy — Greyson Appleby — as our Beaters. Crabbe and Goyle were the Beaters for Montague, Adrian, and Warrington.

I hadn't been paying much attention to the Beaters' performances, only enough to notice when or if someone got hit by a Bludger. I was never hit, though, until Montague switched up the teams. He did that about four more times, testing out all sorts of different combinations, Finn being the only one who could occasionally hit me, and Appleby only when he was paired up with Finn. I wasn't sure how, but they worked well as a team.

Finally, when Montague blew the whistle on that game, it was time for me to face him, Adrian, and Warrington for one of their spots as Chaser. The rules for this were simple — the three blokes had to score as many goals as they could on Bletchley within the given amount of time, and whoever scored the least would be removed from the team, their spot given to me.

Adrian went first. He zoomed up the pitch toward the goalposts and faked left, fooling Bletchley, and scoring on the middle goal. He was then tossed another Quaffle as he flew back around and attempted to do the same thing again. Though this time, as he approached Bletchley and tossed the Quaffle, it was blocked. This continued until Montague blew his whistle, Adrian having scored six goals.

Warrington was up next. He followed the same routine of zooming toward the goalposts, tossing the Quaffle, and heading back to the center of the field before repeating it all. When Montague blew his whistle, Warrington had scored five goals.

Adrian sounded the whistle for Montague to begin, and when it rang out again to tell him to stop, he'd scored eight goals.

Finn wished me luck, but I almost felt as though I didn't need it. I was never one to be cocky, but I was certainly sure of my skills, so much like taking a written exam, I wasn't nervous. I mounted my Firebolt and headed up to the starting point, gripping the broomstick handle and readying myself. When the whistle sounded, I took off toward Bletchley. When I heard the whistle again, I wasn't even sure how many goals I'd scored. I only knew I needed at least six to take Warrington's place, seven or eight to beat Adrian, and to take over Montague's role as Captain, I needed at least —

"Nine!" I heard Finn exclaim as I returned to the ground. "That was nine goals!"

"Did anyone else count nine?" Montague asked listlessly.

"I counted seven," said Crabbe. I wasn't sure if he was just trying to kiss up to Montague, or if he was truly that bad at counting.

"It was nine," Bletchley confirmed.

"All right, well then congratulations, Harris," said Montague airily. "You can have Warrington's spot since he scored the least. It doesn't make sense to get rid of Pucey or myself."

"Fair enough," I said. After all, I never really expected to be made the Captain.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Montague?" said Adrian, irritated.

Montague laughed humorlessly.

"You didn't really think I was going to just hand over the Captain position, did you?" he said, still chortling; everyone was looking rather affronted.

"Aw, no one likes a sore loser, Montague," cooed Finn mockingly.

"Why don't we put it to a vote?" Adrian suggested.

"Yes, let's," said Montague, clearly very confident that his team would not betray him.

"All those in favor of keeping Montague as Captain?"

The only people who raised their hands were Crabbe and Goyle (to suck up, probably).

"All those in favor of making Demetria Captain?"

Everyone else raised their hands.

"All right, all right," said Montague begrudingly, taking something from his robes and handing it to me.

It was a silver badge with the letter 'C' on it.

"Congratulations . . . Captain."

Nearly everyone gave a cheer except, of course, Warrington considering I'd just taken his spot on the team.

I stared down at the badge for a moment longer, a bit concerned that I really had no idea how to be a Captain . . . but then I thought of Viktor, and how he'd always inspired me, and everyone else on the team for that matter. I suddenly felt much more confident remembering my brother.

"I reckon all that's left now is to choose the Beaters," I said loudly. And though I'd paused for a moment, I'd already made my decision, as it was really no contest. "Finn Archer and Greyson Appleby."

More cheers, though Crabbe and Goyle were displeased and did not participate. Appleby looked incredibly surprised and approached me after I'd dismissed everyone from the pitch.

"Er, Captain?" he said. "Are you sure you want me on the team? Crabbe and Goyle are much bigger than me."

"Size is no gaurantee of power," I told him sincerely — something I'd heard George say before. "And you can call me Demetria."

His expression brightened as he nodded and made his way ahead.

"Y'know, it's not too late to change your mind and grab Dumb or Dumber," said Finn in jest, appearing at my side.

Right on cue, we watched both Crabbe and Goyle trip over their own two feet and plummet to the ground.

I looked to Finn and smirked.

"Good idea."

–

"Oy, Nine!" said Bletchley as dinner ended in the Great Hall on Sunday evening. "You missed a right show yesterday!"

"We all watched the Gryffindors try to train their new Keeper," Montague laughed. "Potter's weasel sidekick."

"Well, all of us except Pucey," said Draco, rolling his eyes, "and that new bloke, Appleby."

But all I said in response to that was, "Ron's Keeper?" before scurrying off in the opposite direction.

"Where're you going, Nine?!" one of them called after me.

"Is this 'nine goals' thing really that impressive?" I asked Finn who was walking beside me.

"I reckon they just want to piss off Montague," said Finn. "Besides, your real nickname is clearly Sparks."

"Sparks?" I parroted.

"Holding your hand can be rather dangerous," he teased, referring to my Light. "Speaking of which, have you told Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, he's still looking for someone to train me," I fibbed.

And I had a feeling Finn knew I wasn't telling the truth, but he didn't press the matter any further.

We caught up with the Golden Trio just before reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the Gryffindor common room.

"Oi, Ron!" I said, claiming their attention. "I didn't know you played Quidditch. Congratulations on making Keeper."

"Er, thanks," he said quietly. "I reckon it's only 'cause of Har —"

"It's not, Ron," Harry quickly intervened. "Angelina thinks you show potential."

"Right," he grumbled desolately.

"D'you two prefects mind if we come in for just a second?" I asked Ron and Hermione. "I've just got to discuss something with the twins."

Hermione was looking rather uncomfortable, clearly stuck between following the duties of a prefect or allowing me — her friend — to break the rules a bit. Ron was looking to her for the answer as well.

"Oh, all right," she said reluctantly. "But just for a second!"

It wasn't just for a second.

After discussing my results with the twins, I noticed Harry and Ron still slaving away over homework.

"Have you two made _any_ progress?" I teased.

"We've just got to write Professor Sinistra's essay on Jupiter's moons," said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes. "I say we just ask Hermione to have a look at what she's done."

We all glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting something that I couldn't quite distinguish.

"No," said Harry heavily, "you know she won't let us."

"It's a rather simple topic," said Finn. "I finished my essay the day after Sinistra assigned it."

"Me too," I said to him, fervently.

"Could you two help us then?" Ron asked desperately.

"You're not copying our essays," I told him, laughing a bit, "but we'll supervise and edit, how's that?"

"Better than nothing," said Harry.

They both worked very slowly. Soon, darkness had fallen and the crowd in the common room began to thin. That was when Hermione wandered over, and surprisingly, it wasn't to kick out Finn and I.

"Nearly done?" she asked, yawning.

"No," said Ron shortly.

"Hm, well it looks right so far," she said, staring over Ron's shoulder at his Astronomy essay.

"I know," snarled Ron, "Demetria's been helping me."

"Sorry, I only —"

"Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticize —"

"Do they do this often?" Finn whispered to Harry.

"I'd say nearly every second of every day," he groaned.

"I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione," Ron continued. "I'm up to my neck in it here —"

"No — look!"

Hermione was pointing to the nearest window, a handsome screech owl standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room.

"Isn't that Hermes?" said Hermione, sounding amazed.

"Blimey, it is!" said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. "What's Percy writing to me for?"

He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed upon Ron's essay, and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took it off and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.

"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: _To Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts_. He looked up at the rest of us. "What d'you reckon?"

"Open it!" said Hermione eagerly. We all nodded.

Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read the following letter aloud:

 _Dear Ron,_

 _I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister of Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect._

 _I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the "Fred and George" route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility._

 _But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions._

 _From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of both Harry Potter and Demetria Harris. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternization with those two, especially Potter. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this_ — _no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favorite_ — _but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different_ — _and probably more accurate_ — _view of Potter's behavior, not to mention Harris's. I do not believe the Minister would fabricate a tale as tall as Harris actually attacking Professor Umbridge and insulting the Minister. Trust me, Ron, an emotional, untrained, tempermental Lumen is not someone you need in your company. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the_ Daily Prophet _tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing_ — _and see if you can spot yours truly!_

 _Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter and Harris, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality if you ask me and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt._

 _It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter_ — _I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent_ — _but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behavior that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will be only too happy to advise you. The same goes for Harris, although with her powers, she could be even more of a danger. Luckily, I don't believe you two are that close, so it should be an easier task to keep away from her. But if you are having trouble doing so, Umbridge will be able to assist._

 _This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should not be to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week_ — _again, see the_ Prophet _tomorrow!). I shall say only this_ — _a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years!_

 _I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticize our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore (if you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders). I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people_ — _the Minister really could not be more gracious to me_ — _and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to bind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realize how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes._

 _Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter and Demetria Harris, and congratulations again on becoming prefect._

 _Your brother,_

 _Percy_

"What a prick," said Finn at once. No one else spoke for a moment, Ron still scowling at the letter.

"Well," said Harry, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, "if you want to — er — what is it? Oh yeah — 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"He is —" Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half, "the world's" — he tore it into quarters — "biggest" — he tore it into eighths — " _git_." He threw the pieces into the fire.

"Come on, we've got to get this finished some time before dawn," he said briskly to Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back toward him.

"Oh, give them here," said Hermione abruptly.

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Ron bitterly, "I've got Demetria here, who I also don't plan on severing ties with."

Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face and I recalled — once again — what Viktor had said about those two.

"Thanks, Ron," I said, "but I reckon Hermione can help you with the rest. Harry, I'll take a look at yours."

"Thanks a million," Harry said weakly, passing me his essay, "both of you."

"Yeah, you're lifesavers," Ron agreed, "what can I — ?"

"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,'" Hermione said, reviewing Ron's essay.

It was now past midnight and the Gryffindor common room was deserted but for the four of us and Crookshanks, Finn having left only a few minutes ago. The only sound was that of mine and Hermione's quills scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as we checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table. I wished I could have simply gone up to the fifth year girls' dormitory once I'd finished correcting Harry's essay, but I was beginning to dread making the walk all the way back to my own common room.

"Okay, write that down," I heard Hermione say to Ron, "and then copy out this conclusion that I've written for you."

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met," said Ron weakly, "and if I'm ever rude to you again —"

"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione.

 _Bloody hell, how is Viktor right about every sodding thing?_ I wondered.

"Harry?" said Ron uncertainly, pulling me from my thoughts. "Why are you down there?"

Harry had slid off his chair onto his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames of the fireplace.

"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire," he said.

"A little sleep-deprived, are we?" I teased.

"Sirius's head?" Hermione repeated. "You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too — _Sirius_!"

But sure enough, there sat Sirius's head in the middle of the dancing flames, long dark hair falling around his grinning face.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," he said. "I've been checking in every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry said, half laughing.

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."

"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Well, I think a girl — first year by the look of her — might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry," Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something."

"But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk —" Hermione began.

"You sound like Molly," said Sirius. "This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable."

"You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!" said Hermione accusingly.

"I forgot," said Harry. "Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?"

"No, it was very good," said Sirius, smiling. "Though speaking of letters — Demetria, we expected to hear _something_ from you. Glad to see you've made it into Gryffindor."

"Oh, well actually, I'm in Slytherin," I admitted.

"Then glad to see you're as rebellious as your father," he said. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — Harry, your scar."

"What about — ?" Ron began, but Hermione said quickly, "It hurt when Umbridge touched him, go on, Sirius."

"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion," said Harry. "So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention."

"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often," said Sirius.

I was suddenly wishing I'd gone back to the common room with Finn. I often felt like an awkward, out-of-place fourth wheel when people needed to talk to Harry about his scar or something else that connected him with Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were his best mates, so of course it was relevant for them, but I was just the girl who was constantly caught in the middle. I wondered if I could've just gotten up and left without even saying anything.

"So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?" Harry asked.

"I doubt it," said Sirius. "I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"

"Demetria, d'you know if she is?" Ron asked me.

Somehow, every time I was feeling as though I could've snuck off unnoticed, someone pulled me into the conversation for a moment.

"I've never seen or heard her mentioned at any meetings," I said.

"Well she's certainly foul enough to be one," said Harry darkly.

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," said Sirius with a wry smile. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."

"Does Lupin know her?" Harry asked quickly.

"No," said Sirius, "but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

Remus had mentioned that to me, and it only made me despise Umbridge even more.

"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione angrily.

"People like Umbridge are scared of anyone who's different," I spat.

"That's what I expect too, reckon that means she's afraid of _you_ , Demetria," said Sirius, smiling. "Apparently she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —"

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset. I recalled Ron mentioning something to me over the summer about Hermione's organization to help house-elves.

"Sirius!" she said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"

"So what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius interrupted. "Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"

I laughed. "Not unless it's Ministry-approved."

"She's not letting us use magic at all!" said Harry.

"All we do is read the stupid textbook," Ron added.

"Ah, well, that figures," said Sirius. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

" _Trained in combat_?" parroted Harry incredulously. "What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic."

"I knew this was Fudge's doing," I said, more so to myself. "He's pathetic."

"Really," said Ron in agreement. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with."

I didn't know who Luna Lovegood was, but I was sure nothing could compare to the stupidity of Cornelius Fudge.

"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione, looking furious.

"Yep," said Sirius. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."

"D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow?" Harry asked. "Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"

"I don't know," said Sirius, "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here . . ."

There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice and I couldn't say I blamed him.

"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?"

"Ah . . ." said Sirius, "well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him. But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."

"But if he was supposed to be back by now . . ." said Hermione in a small, worried voice.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay."

I noticed the trio exchange worried looks.

"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," said Sirius hastily, "it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay. When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —"

"NO!" Harry and Hermione chorused.

"Sirius, didn't you see the _Daily Prophet_?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Oh that," said Sirius grinning. I knew they were referring to the article saying that Sirius Black had been spotted. "They're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue —"

"Yeah, but we think this time they have," said Harry. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you at King's Cross, and his father was on the platform, Sirius — you know, Lucius Malfoy — so don't come up here, whatever yo do, if Malfoy recognizes you again —"

"All right, all right, I've got the point," said Sirius. He looked most displeased, to say the least. "Just an idea, thought you might like to get together —"

"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry.

There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.

"You're less like your father than I thought," he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."

"Look —"

"He's not James, Sirius," I said, and I couldn't believe how much I'd sounded like Molly. I couldn't help it though, and Molly was right: Sirius wasn't acting like much of a responsible adult. It seemed when it came to Harry and Sirius, the roles were reversed and Harry was the godfather looking out for Sirius. It was very clear that Sirius really thought Harry was his father, and I was starting to think he thought I was my mother, even though he'd told me that wasn't the case.

"Right, well, I'd better get going," said Sirius. "I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs. I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"

"That's not —"

But there was a tiny _pop_ , and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.

"That's not fair," I said to the flames.


	9. Chapter 8: Bother

_**Chapter Eight**_

 _Bother_

:.:.:

The next morning at breakfast, Finn and I anxiously awaited the daily owl post. Once it had arrived, we inspected Finn's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and instantly saw the article to which Percy had been referring in his letter to Ron.

 **MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM**

 **DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"**

"Whatever that is, it can't be good," said Finn darkly.

We both began reading:

 _In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve."_

 _This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person._

 _"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone, so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."_

 _It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of "Hogwarts High Inquisitor."_

 _"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the 'falling standards' at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she has accepted."_

 _The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts._

 _"I feel so much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation," said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation."_

 _Among those "eccentric decisions" are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the hiring of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, and delusional ex-Auror "Mad-Eye" Moody._

 _Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts._

 _"I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step toward ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose confidence," said a Ministry insider last night._

 _Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Odgen have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts._

 _"Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office," said Madam Marchbanks. "This is a further disgusting attempt to descredit Albus Dumbledore." (For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page 17)._

"This is fucking ridiculous," I said to Finn under my breath, so as not to alert our present company, for they were bound to side with the _Prophet_.

"I'm with you two," Daphne whispered from beside me.

Well, not _everyone_ in our present company was bound to side with the _Prophet_. I looked across the table and Adrian was nodding his agreement as well. I glanced down at the back of my right hand, the faint white outline of the words Umbridge had forced me to write staring back at me. Something had to be done.

Thankfully, I didn't see Umbridge any more than I had to that day. She hadn't inspected any of my classes, although she would've if I'd been in Divination with my fellow fifth years. Finn briefly told me about it when we entered the classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Wands away," said Umbridge once everyone was seated. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen, and I noticed, just like last time, Hermione had her hand up in the air.

Umbridge had noticed too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione, she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face-to-face, then she bent down and whispered, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read chapter two," said Hermione.

"Well then, proceed to chapter three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

I suppressed a laugh as I watched Umbridge stare blankly for a moment before recovering her poise.

"Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."

"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named," said Hermione promptly. "He says 'counterjinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."

"I reckon that makes this a 'counterclass.'"

I thought I'd said it quietly, but I didn't take into consideration how silent the class was, and some people heard me and giggled. Umbridge, on the other hand, paid me no mind as she was still staring at Hermione.

"But I disagree with him," she continued.

Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher than before and her gaze became distinctly colder.

"You disagree?"

"Yes, I do," said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the rest of the class's attention. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you?" said Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But —" Hermione began.

"That is enough," said Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before us, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

There was an outbreak of muttering at this.

"What for?" said Harry angrily.

"Don't you get involved!" I heard Hermione whisper urgently to him.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection —"

"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Harry loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

I was actually shocked. I couldn't believe Harry! We were both told specifically not to start shite with Umbridge and what did he do the very next time we were in her class? He started shite with her! Don't get me wrong, it was an incredibly effortless thing to do, but this wasn't anything like last time.

This wasn't Umbridge launching into some ignorant, Ministry-approved, bullshite speech and pissing everyone off. All she'd done was mention some professor's name, and Harry jumped at the chance to argue with her, as though he'd been expecting it, as though he did it on purpose. This wasn't Harry letting his emotions get the better of him, as we'd both let happen last time, this was just Harry being defiant, so I wasn't at all surprised by what Umbridge said next.

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter."

It didn't stop there — Harry's temper was out of control. The following morning at breakfast, after Angelina had caused a scene by shouting at him for landing more detentions and seemingly missing Quidditch practices, McGonagall strode over to the Gryffindor table. And though they were on the opposite side of the Hall, I heard everything, as nearly everyone else was listening as well.

"Miss Johnson, how _dare_ you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!"

"But Professor — he's gone and landed himself in detention _again_ —"

"What's this, Potter?" said McGonagall sharply. "Detention? From whom?"

And though Harry's response had been mumbled, I was fully aware of the answer. McGonagall had lowered her voice then too, but it was evident she was upset with him for ignoring her warning. She'd raised her voice again in just another moment, though.

"Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!"

"But — what? Professor, no!" Harry said, furious. "I'm already being punished by _her_ , why do you have to take points as well?"

"Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!" said McGonagall tartly. "No, not another word of complaint, Potter!"

I didn't turn away until McGonagall had strode off toward the staff table and I watched Harry fling himself onto the bench to complain to his mates.

"I really can't stand Harry sometimes," I said quietly to Finn.

After Charms, I realized I would be having my first Umbridge-inspected class when I entered Transfiguration. Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner, and McGonagall marched into the classroom without giving the slightest indication that she knew Umbridge was there.

"That will do," she said, and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework — Miss Brown, please take this box of mice — don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you — and hand one to each student —"

" _Hem, hem,_ " said Umbridge. McGonagall ignored her.

I didn't have to write the essay, but Seamus Finnigan handed Finn back his essay. He'd gotten an E; when I reached out to pat his arm to sort of congratulate him, he grabbed my hand. I wasn't sure why until I realized it was my right hand. I quickly snatched it back and watched him stare back at me with horror.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely — Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention — most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be —"

" _Hem, hem,_ " said Umbridge.

" _Yes_?" said McGonagall, turning around, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec —"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you were doing in my classroom," said McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Umbridge. "As I was saying, today we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell —"

" _Hem, hem._ "

"I wonder," said McGonagall in cold fury, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."

I took a great deal of pleasure in watching Umbridge look as though she'd been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, McGonagall addressed the class once more.

"As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So — you know the incantation, let me see what you can do . . ."

I wondered how much more Umbridge would have intervened if the professor had been anyone but McGonagall . . . although I didn't wonder _too_ much, because I much preferred it the way it went.

As soon as the class was over, Finn rounded on me as we exited.

"What the hell is this?" he whispered urgently, grabbing my hand.

"It's my new tattoo, Finn, don't you like it?" I said sarcastically.

"Ha-ha," he said listlessly. "Seriously, who did this?"

"Umbridge," I said under my breath as we made our way down numerous staircases.

And when he looked as though he was going to ask another question, I stopped him by explaining exactly what happened during the detentions. He didn't speak again until we were walking down the lawns toward the forest for Care of Magical Creatures.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He didn't sound angry anymore, he sounded hurt.

"I didn't want to bother you," I admitted.

" _Bother_ me?" he said incredulously. "When have you ever bothered me? I don't understand — D'you think — What's going on with you? You don't want to _bother_ Dumbledore with your Lumen powers, you don't want to _bother_ me with . . . _this_ — ?"

"What's going on with me?!" I parroted indignantly, though keeping my voice low as we approached the crowd of students. "You've got to be kidding me, Finn! You're supposed to be my best mate and you haven't got any idea what's _going on with me_?!"

"That's not what I —"

"No, you know why?" I pressed. "Because you don't want to hear it! No one wants to bloody hear it — except Adrian!"

"You're upset about Cedric and that's why you don't want to 'bother' anyone with important information?!" he said disbelievingly.

"Quick, we'd better change the subject before the conversation gets too real and emotional!" I said bitingly.

"Oh, piss off!" he spat. "Go cry to Adrian, then."

I shot a very aggressive insult at Finn in Bulgarian before marching away from him. And though I thought I was no longer standing near him, I heard him speak as clearly as though he were right next to me.

"I can't believe she actually complains about Harry being tempermental, she's just as bad —"

I expected him to be closer, but when I looked, I found a few students standing between us.

"Stop talking about me like I can't hear you," I whispered to him scathingly.

"I didn't say anything!" he shot back.

I tried to focus on Professor Grubbly-Plank (and Umbridge, who I'd just noticed was walking around with a clipboard), but I heard Finn talk about me again, so clearly, as though I couldn't hear him.

"Godric forbid I say the wrong bloody thing —"

"Finnick, shut your gob, all right?" I snapped.

"I haven't said a word!" he angrily told me.

This, of course, only aggravated me more. I mean, what was he trying to pull? Trying to make me seem —

"— mental! I didn't think it was true but she's really losing it, isn't she?" said a female voice that I didn't recognize.

I looked around but no one seemed to be speaking.

"I wonder if Professor Hagrid will be coming back," someone else said.

"I really hope Umbridge doesn't talk to me."

"Harry just keeps making trouble for himself."

"I don't think I'm going to do very well on this O.W.L."

"Demetria doesn't look so good . . ."

I heard so many people talking at once, but no one's mouth was moving. Maybe I _was_ crazy, maybe this was all my imagination . . .

"Professor, I reckon Demetria needs the hospital wing!" someone said urgently. And I actually saw their mouth move when they spoke.

"Oh my!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank as she caught sight of me. "Of course, Miss Harris, you may go!"

I finally took notice of the nosebleed I'd apparently been experiencing and moved my hand to it to try and stop it. I rushed off toward the castle, my head feeling sort of heavy as it pounded, and I continued hearing people talking. It all sounded as though they were standing right beside me, and they all spoke over one another. Most of them were talking about me . . . I did my best to block it out, whatever it was, but even when I was far away, I still heard everything. Eventually, it all just sounded like one large cloud of buzzing — white noise. I couldn't tune it out.

I immediately changed course; instead of the hospital wing, I headed for Dumbledore's office. I gave the password to the gargoyle who granted my entrance, and I hurried up the stairs.

"Professor — sir — I'm sorry to bother you —" I rushed out as soon as I'd stepped into the circular room. But as soon as I did so, the white noise stopped and I froze, breathing heavily.

"Demetria?" I heard Dumbledore say, concerned.

I looked up to see him rushing to me from behind his desk. He examined me and I moved my hand from my nose, the blood seeming to have stopped as well.

"Professor, would you happen to know if my powers include mind-reading . . . ?"

"I believe I do recall your mother possessing that ability," said Dumbledore calmly. "Is that what you experienced?"

I explained to him exactly what it felt like out on the grounds, and then I proceeded to tell him about when I'd seemingly healed Harry's wound the previous week.

"Yes, it seems these incidents are due to your Lumen powers developing," said Dumbledore once I'd finished. "And I must apologize, Demetria, I have not been able to locate anyone just yet."

"That's all right," I assured him weakly. "I'm sure you're busy — I thought you might've forgotten about me —"

"I assure you, I have not forgotten," he said, determined. "I do admit there have been other matters I have been tending to, but now that you have brought to my attention how severe this situation is becoming, this shall be my top priority."

"Sir, that's really not necessary," I insisted. "I'm sure there are much more important things you have to do."

"Well then, how about I make this _one_ of my top priorities?" he asked me with a small smile which I mirrored.

"Better," I said with a small laugh, although my smile vanished when I realized something. "Professor, I'm not sure what to do if this happens again. I have one class left today and . . ." I couldn't bring myself to say that I was actually afraid to attend it. Luckily, I didn't have to.

"I will let Professor Sprout know you have been excused from Herbology this evening," he said kindly. "Perhaps you would like to visit the hospital wing and rest?"

And although the hospital wing wasn't exactly my favorite place, I accepted the offer. I felt better just knowing that Dumbledore was going to find someone to help me control my powers, but I also hated to admit that Finn had been right about telling Dumbledore. But as I made my way to the hospital wing, I tried my best to remain calm and not relive my argument with Finn in case my anger would bring on another explosion of people's thoughts. Instead, I did exactly as Dumbledore suggested and simply rested.

When classes had ended for the day, I left the hospital wing while everyone else filed into the Great Hall for dinner. I wasn't really in the mood to socialize, and was still rather scared to surround myself with so many people and all of their thoughts, so I made my way up to the Owlery.

 _Remus_ —

 _I'm sorry I didn't write sooner, but now that I've waited, there's actually quite a bit I have to tell you. First off, if you haven't already heard, I'm a Slytherin. The Sorting Hat had a rather hard time placing me, and Dumbledore said I was the longest Hatstall since Professor McGonagall. I was nearly in Gryffindor, but the hat mentioned my being in Slytherin could help unite the Houses, although that's proving to be sort of an impossible task. Most of the older Slytherins are decent people, but nearly everyone in my year and younger is a right git, thinking they're the most supreme beings. I'm sure you already know the type._

 _I joined the Slytherin Quidditch team as a Chaser. They also made me the new Captain, so I reckon I've got my work cut out for me. Speaking of work, I'm actually in the N.E.W.T. level Potions class with the seventh years and it's going well. Be sure to let Bill know that I'm also taking Study of Ancient Runes and the sixth year Arithmancy class_ — _so far, it's nothing I can't handle._

 _Now, for some more important news: I reckon my powers are coming in. They're getting a bit harder to control, and I expect that's because my emotions are all over the sodding place these days. I know Dumbledore is busy, but I brought it to his attention and he said he would make finding someone for me a top priority. He seems to think the situation is getting severe, but I'm handling it . . . sort of. I wasn't even going to bother him with it but I seem to be developing additional powers, and I had a particularly overwhelming episode of sorts just this afternoon. Try not to worry about me too much though, I just thought I'd keep you in the know. Oh, and I still haven't gotten the locket back._

 _Hope all is well with you. I miss you. And I'd also like to add that I'm really happy you're my godfather, and that you know I'm not my mother._

— _Demetria_

I knew that to Remus, the last bit would seem a bit odd, but after that conversation with Sirius the previous night, I just wanted to let Remus know how much I appreciated having him there for me.

When I turned to locate Ares, I found he had already rushed over to the windowsill, ready for me. I told him where to go and he blinked in what I could only assume was some sort of understanding. I rubbed my finger under his chin before he took off, and I hoped Fred and George hadn't been working him too hard.

I passed by the Great Hall, but still did not feel like entering. I wasn't even really that hungry, so I continued walking and made my way toward the dungeons. But right when I was about to descend the steps, I found someone waiting for me — a certain red-headed twin.

"Listen, Tri, there's a lot I have to say and I don't want you to interrupt, all right? I know I said I was getting over you, but it's proving to be more difficult than I expected. I just feel like we've got a real connection, y'know? It seems a shame to waste it . . . but I also know it's too soon for you, I completely understand that — I'm not trying to force anything, but I reckon if you gave us a chance, you'd see what I do, which is how great we'd be together . . . So, what d'you say?"

I stood there in silence for a moment before I smirked and finally spoke.

"Hi, Fred."

"Tri, it's me," he said sincerely.

I wiped away my smirk and put on a serious face.

"Oh . . ." I said quietly, moving closer. "Well then, let's do this."

I stood on my tip-toes and leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled back when we were inches away.

"Bloody hell, how'd you know?!" said Fred fervently.

I laughed.

"You mean not everyone can tell the difference between you two?" I asked.

"Not really, no!"

"Well, it was a valiant effort, Freddie," I told him, "but that's sort of what gave it away for me — that, and George has that scar above his right eyebrow."

"I was hoping you'd have been so swept away by my romantic gesture you wouldn't notice my lack of eyebrow scarring," Fred said, smirking. "And don't worry, I'm fully aware of how much you love confidence in a man."

"Oh really?" I said, amused.

"Of course — first Diggory, now I'm hearing rumors about Pucey . . ."

"What?" I asked in disbelief.

"Nothing to be ashamed about, Princess," Fred insisted, still teasingly, "Pucey's a catch — a _confident_ catch — which begs the question: why haven't you taken a shot at _me_?"

"You're joking," I said, though smirking.

"For the first time in my life, I am not," he told me, although he was still grinning rather mischeviously.

"Er, I dunno," I admitted through nervous laughter. "I don't look at either of you that way."

"Well maybe you should start looking," he said airily. "See this?" He turned his head to both sides. "Not even a hint of redness."

I realized he was referring to his ears.

"All right then, thanks for stopping by, Fred," I rushed out, trying to move past him. He blocked me.

"Something wrong, Princess?" He was smirking down at me.

"I don't understand either of you," I told him exasperatedly. "First, George is pining for me and you encourage him to go for it, but now he's nearly over me so you decide you want to come after me?"

Fred chuckled.

"I was only teasing you, Dem, relax," he assured me. But when I continued to look at him, unconvinced, he added, "I wouldn't do that to Georgie."

And I hadn't heard the bell ring to signify the end of dinner, but I noticed a group of Slytherins making their way toward the common room. Finn was among them. I half-expected him to voice some sort of concern, being that the last time I saw him, I was bleeding from the nose and about ready to pass out, but he stared at me with a look of pure ice and walked right past me. It was just like when Grigor and I weren't speaking the previous year.

"What was that?" Fred asked, genuinely concerned.

"Nothing," I told him, my voice hollow.


	10. Chapter 9: The Start of Something

_**Chapter Nine**_

 _The Start of Something_

:.:.:

The next two weeks somehow managed to be even worse than my first official week at this school. I was back to feeling like the lonely outcast, constantly haunted by thoughts of Cedric and Grandad, unable to sleep, and unable to stop crying. Thoughts and emotions were bottling up again, but I didn't want to bother Adrian with it, as I would only be repeating myself.

To top everything off, Finn and I still were not speaking. I suppose he didn't feel he was in the wrong, but I certainly didn't think I was, so neither one of us made any attempt at an apology, and seeing him around only made me more furious with him. So I kept mostly to myself and sat near Daphne and Tracey when it came time for classes, though I wasn't much company. Thankfully, they didn't seem to mind.

Not to mention, my powers began acting up once again. It wasn't just anger which sparked them (no pun intended), but an extreme emotion of any kind. One particular afternoon, I was beginning to feel like I was drowning in my sadness, and that was when the voices came back. Everyone's thoughts began flooding into my mind, my nose started bleeding, and I could feel my Light like electricity at my fingertips — all in the middle of Transfiguration. Something similar or some sort of combination started occuring at some point nearly every day, but I assumed Dumbledore had explained my situation to the professors, because they were very understanding and always excused me to the hospital wing. I knew it would only spark (again, no pun intended) confirmation on the rumors that I was losing it, but there wasn't much I could do. I was starting to believe those rumors anyway.

Remus had written back to me with some very kind and encouraging words. He also voiced his appreciation for me, and it made me so happy and sentimental that I nearly sent a bolt of Light straight for Ares when he delivered the letter.

"Sorry, Ares," I said, tilting my head up to stop any tears from falling. "It's been a rough couple of weeks."

Ares had hopped up onto my shoulder and I began softly petting him before an idea dawned on me. I decided to write to Viktor — I poured out all of my thoughts on the pieces of parchment, and when I was finished, I did the same thing in a letter to Grigor. It helped a little bit, but I hoped it would make me feel better when I actually could read their responses. I wished my brothers were closer and I didn't have to wait to hear from them.

"Sorry again, but it looks as though you've got your work cut out for you," I said to Ares as I attached both letters to him. "You'll have a well-deserved break after this, I'll even tell Fred and George to put business on hold."

Just as Ares had taken flight, I noticed someone making their way toward me as I laid in my bed in the hospital wing.

"Hello, 'Moine," I said quietly as the bushy-haired brunette approaching my bed.

"I hope you're feeling all right," she told me sincerely.

I shrugged. "I've been better."

"I'm sorry," she said before lowering her voice. "I just wanted to stop by and let you know — if you're up to it, of course — Harry's agreed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts since Umbridge refuses to. Anyone interested is meeting during the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. Feel free to mention it to Finn —"

"Finn and I aren't exactly on the best of terms right now," I said listlessly, my eyes closed as I tried to calm myself at the mention of his name.

"Oh, er, well if there's anyone else . . ." Hermione began sheepishly.

"I'll pass the message along," I assured her.

"Great," she said fervently. "We're meeting at the Hog's Head. I'll see you tomorrow, Demetria."

I hadn't realized until I'd actually arrived in Hogsmeade that the Hog's Head was a rather terrible spot to be meeting. I s'pose it could've been considered more private in a way, but when I had urgent matters to discuss with Grandad, we met at the Three Broomsticks — it was much more crowded and easier not to draw attention. Regardless, I walked with the small group I'd gathered — Daphne, Tracey, and Adrian — into the Hog's Head.

This was a pub I'd never stepped foot in; I couldn't even imagine any reason I would've. It comprised one small, dingy, and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be earthy, though as I stepped on it, I realized there was some stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries. All in all, a truly delightful establishment . . .

I quickly spotted the Golden Trio surrounded by the following people: Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, Parvati and Padma Patil, Cho Chang and a rather giggly girlfriend of hers, that Katie bird from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Angelina Johnson, and two other birds I didn't recognize. Many more people entered after my group and I did — some people I recognized, others I didn't — but none were Slytherins, and we received some rather curious looks from people being that we were the only snakes . . . or at least we _were_ until two more blokes came in — a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin: Callum and Finn. I'd nearly forgotten about Callum, but I certainly didn't forget his older brother, who shot me another glare before sitting as far from me as he possibly could.

Speaking of glares, I expected one from Cho Chang when I accidentally locked eyes with her, but she actually gave me a small smile . . . a sad, understanding sort of smile. What kind of world was I living in where Cho Chang smiled at me and Finn Archer absolutely hated my guts, I wondered.

"Er," said Hermione when the chatter among the group died out. Her voice was slightly higher than usual out of nerves. "Well — er — hi. Well . . . erm . . . well, you know why you're here. Erm . . . Well, Harry here had the idea — I mean I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us" — Hermione's voice suddenly became much stronger and more confident — "because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts" — "Hear, hear," said a bloke, and Hermione looked heartened — "well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."

She paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" said another bloke.

"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because . . . because . . ." She took a great breath and finished, "Because Lord Voldemort's back."

The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped butterbeer down herself, a bloke gave a kind of involuntary twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville Longbottom gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. I was only surprised that Hermione had actually — and finally — said Voldemort's name.

"Well . . . that's the plan anyway," she continued. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to —"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said a blond boy in a rather aggressive voice.

I rolled my eyes, unsure of how many more ignorant people I could handle.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it —" Hermione began.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes _him_ ," said the boy, nodding to Harry, "and . . . _her_." He spotted me in the crowd and pointed to me as well.

"Who are _you_?" said Ron rather rudely, although I couldn't say I blamed him.

"Zacharias Smith," said the bloke, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes _them_ say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about —"

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry before looking to me; I nodded and Harry turned back to look Zacharias straight in the face. "What makes us say You-Know-Who's back? We saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe us, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know —"

"You'd all like to know, eh?" I said loudly, though my voice was void of emotion. I really hadn't planned on saying anything, I didn't want to get involved, but this bloke was already working my last nerve. "Everyone's just dying to hear the details? If you want to hear exactly what happened to Cedric, you're _sick_ , and not only that, but I'm afraid you're out of luck, because that's not something Harry and I like to discuss."

"And if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out," Harry added angrily.

No one left their seats, not even Zacharias.

"So," said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. "So . . . like I was saying . . . if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to —"

"Is it true," interrupted a girl with a long plait down her back, looking at Harry, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

"Yeah," said Harry slightly defensively.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

I looked to George who winked at me. I knew George could produce one as well.

"Er — you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" Harry asked the girl who smiled.

"She's my auntie," she said. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So — is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Blimey, Harry!" said Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Harry. I took it George hadn't told his twin that he could do the same. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry and a couple of people laughed.

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded another bloke. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year . . ."

"Er — yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.

Everyone gave different reactions to display how impressed they were. I was rather impressed as well. Granted, I'd known Harry was a talented wizard, but I never heard about any of the great tasks he'd accomplished at Hogwarts.

"And in our first year," said Neville to the group, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone —"

"Sorcerer's," hissed Hermione.

"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.

"And that's not to mention," said Cho, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things . . ."

"Demetria did all of that too," Harry modestly reminded.

"Yeah, and I died," I said in jest; people laughed.

"That's right, she came back from the dead!" said a younger-looking bloke, eyes round as Galleons.

"Demetria, have you ever fought You-Know-Who?" asked Susan Bones.

"No —"

"You were the top student at Durmstrang, right?" inquired another boy.

"One of them, yeah, but this isn't about me," I insisted, looking to Hermione in hopes that she would get everyone back on track.

"Yes, well," she said hastily, understanding my nonverbal request, "moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"

"Why not Harry _and_ Demetria?" Neville suggested.

There was a murmur of general agreement.

"What? No, I'm here to learn from Harry," I said quickly.

"Well if there's ever anything you'd like to add . . ." Hermione began hopefully, she and everyone else staring at me as though I possessed some sort of secret, Norwegian weapon to defeat Voldemort that hadn't been brought to the UK yet.

"Right, sure," I said airily.

"Well, then, the next question is how often we do it," Hermione continued. "I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week —"

"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Zacharias.

"Nor ours," I said.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters —"

"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan. "Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up! I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells —"

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, "is that she's got some . . . some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except a blonde, dreamy-eyed girl, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

"What?" said Harry at once.

"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths," said the girl solemnly.

"Luna Lovegood," Daphne whispered to me. "Known by many as Loony Lovegood."

"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.

"Yes, he has," said Luna.

"What are heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever. "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of —"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly.

Luna's nickname seemed rightly chosen.

"Oh yes they do!" she said angrily.

"I'm sorry, but where's the _proof_ of that?" snapped Hermione.

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you —"

" _Hem, hem,_ " said Ginny in such a good imitation of Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?"

"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right . . ."

"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee.

"As long as —" began Angelina.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," said Hermione in a tense voice. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet . . ."

This was more difficult; the whole group fell silent.

"Library?" suggested Katie after a few moments.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry.

I remembered that strict, old woman when my brothers and I had caused a bit of a disturbance in the library. No, that certainly wouldn't do.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" suggested Dean Thomas.

"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard . . ."

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."

She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.

"I-I think everybody should write their names down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we're up to."

"Are you sure we can trust _them_ , then?" said Zacharias, nodding to myself and my three Slytherin mates.

"Can we trust _you_?" I challenged.

Suddenly, Zacharias seemed rather hesitant. "Er . . ." he said slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. "Well . . . I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too.

"I — well, we are _prefects_ ," Ernie burst out. "And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . ."

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'll do this year," Harry reminded him.

"I — yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that, it's just . . ."

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione testily.

"No. No, of course not," Ernie insisted, looking slightly less anxious. "I — yes, of course I'll sign."

Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though I noticed Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her name. I signed my name after Zacharias, and as I was the last one to do so, Hermione took the parchment back afterwards and slipped it carefully into her bag.

"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later."

"That time of the month, Fred?" I couldn't help but call out to him; some people chuckled.

But surprisingly, Fred didn't have a witty comeback to toss back at me. He, George, and Lee simply smirked and scurried out of the pub. Everyone else began taking their leave then as well, me and my Slytherin trio joining them, but we found someone waiting outside the Hog's Head for me.

"Demetria?"

It was Cho Chang.

"Er, yeah?" I said uneasily.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was . . . I dunno — What I said back there about Harry doing all those things in the Triwizard Tournament —"

"Oh, no, I wasn't insulted or anything," I assured her. "Everyone was discussing what _Harry's_ done, not me."

"Okay yeah, 'cause I didn't mean anything by not mentioning you," Cho told me sheepishly.

"I didn't think you did," I said. "I mean, I know I haven't exactly been your favorite person —"

"Right, that . . ." she said, sounding even more embarrassed. "I also wanted to apologize for that. I was jealous of you and . . . C-Cedric, but I shouldn't have acted the way I did toward you. You didn't do anything wrong."

Cho really hadn't done much to me except send a few glares my way on occasion, but perhaps she'd done her fair share of talking badly about me behind my back . . . Either way, I was prepared to forgive her no matter what the reason.

"It's really all right," I said sincerely. "It's all in the past."

Cho relaxed upon hearing that.

"I'm glad," she said brightly. "And if you ever need someone to talk to . . . about anything, you can always come to me."

I knew she probably just wanted to hear about Cedric, but there was no one better to talk to about him than his not-so-secret admirer. I probably could've told Cho my reoccuring thoughts on Cedric about a thousand times and she would've never gotten tired of hearing it.

"I really appreciate that, Cho, thank you," I told her whole-heartedly. "I reckon I'll take you up on that offer sometime."

She gave me another smile and said, "Anytime, Demetria, I'll see you around," before walking off with her friend.

I returned to my own group of friends.

"What was that about?" Daphne asked.

"Probably Cedric, am I right?" said Tracey.

I nodded, and wondered if I'd ever be able to hear his name without my heart sinking in my chest.


	11. Chapter 10: Back to Square One

_**Chapter Ten**_

 _Back to Square One_

:.:.:

— **BY ORDER OF —**

 **The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

 **All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.**

 **An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby refined as a regular meeting of three or more students.**

 **Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).**

 **No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.**

 **Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.**

 _ **The above is in accordance with**_

 _ **Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.**_

 __ **Signed:**

 _Dolores Jane Umbridge_

 **HIGH INQUISITOR**

I'd noticed the crowd around the Slytherin notice board in the common room the very next morning and read all about Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. I knew it couldn't've been a coincidence that Umbridge would say something like this two days after we'd all met at the Hog's Head.

"Who d'you reckon told?" Adrian asked me quietly as we made our way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"My money's on Zacharias Smith," I said.

"I wonder if this means the Defense lessons are off," he said.

"I'll find out," I told him, making a bee-line for the Gryffindor table upon entering the Hall.

As it turned out, I wasn't the only one with that wondering. I found the Golden Trio surrounded by Neville, Dean, Fred, George, and Ginny who were all asking questions.

"Did you see it?"

"D'you reckon she knows?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Maybe one of the Slytherins told — Oh! Er, hi, Demetria," said Dean.

"Morning, Dean," I said casually, completely unphased by his comment. I couldn't say I blamed him for not trusting Slytherins. It seemed there were only a select few of us who were decent, after all. "I can assure you it wasn't one of us."

"Don't worry, we know," Hermione assured me, although I wasn't sure how she could be so positive, and she didn't explain.

"We're going to do this anyway, of course," Harry told all of us quietly.

"Knew you'd say that," said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.

"The prefects as well?" said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.

"Of course," said Hermione coolly.

"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," said Ron, looking over his shoulder. " _And_ those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty."

"What?" I inquired.

"I'll tell you later," Hermione said urgently, "but right now everyone has to get back to their own table or we'll look suspicious!"

"Right-o," I said, hurrying away, but noticed the other House members didn't seem to get the message right away.

"Demetria," said Greyson Appleby as I approached the Slytherin table, "d'we have to ask Professor Umbridge for permission to re-form our Quidditch team?"

"Not to worry, Appleby," came Draco's arrogant drawl, as he waved around an official-looking piece of parchment. "I've already taken the liberty of visiting Umbridge and she gave us permission straightaway."

"Wow, Draco, you're our hero," I said, utterly deadpan.

"She's just jealous Umbridge would've said no if _she'd_ been the one who asked," I thought I heard Draco say.

"What was that?" I challenged, narrowing my eyes.

"I didn't say anything," he said coolly.

"I can't believe Demetria actually put me on the team —"

I turned to Greyson but didn't see his mouth moving and started to panic. The mind reading was happening without me even feeling any intense emotion . . . and almost as soon as I realized that, more and more voices began creeping into my mind. My hand automatically moved to hold my nose to stop the blood before it could pour, and I rushed out of the Hall.

Sick of the hospital wing, I began walking aimlessly around the castle, just hoping that distancing myself from the Great Hall would be enough. It seemed to be working until the bell rang and everyone started occupying the halls I was roaming. There were so many voices in my head now that it became white noise just like the first time. It buzzed relentlessly as I broke out into a run and climbed staircases higher and higher.

Finally, both the noise and the blood were gone, although I could only relax for a second because the place I found myself in was not one I could enjoy. It was the Astronomy Tower. I tried leaving, but as soon as I was back out in the corridor, all of the voices came rushing back at once and caused a high-pitched piercing sound to ring in my ears. I shut myself back in the tower, and closed my eyes, hoping that I could somehow relax and maybe forget where I was . . .

But then I thought, maybe I should've been doing the opposite. Whenever I spoke to someone about Cedric, I felt better . . . so perhaps I should've been embracing these sad, nostalgic moments, so that I could build up a tolerance toward them.

I stood up and walked over to the balcony, allowing myself to relive the memory. I could picture Cedric and I laying on the fluffy blanket he had placed in front of the parapet . . . I could still remember exactly how our conversation went.

 _"You were right, this was worth it."_

 _"The view's only part of it. There was actually something I wanted to talk about."_

 _"What's up?"_

 _"It's nothing bad . . . I hope . . . Well, three months ago, you were rather worried about where we'd be four months from then . . . And, I know we've still got that one month left, and I dunno about you, but . . . I know_ now _. . . I want to make it work. Yeah, Norway's far, but I've learned Apparation this year and_ — _"_

And then I'd kissed him.

Tears were threatening to spill over and I didn't stop them.

 _"There was one other thing I wanted to mention."_

 _"Oh no, is it bad news...? Did you just tell me the good news first so I wouldn't_ — _"_

 _"Demetria, I love you. I hope that's also good news..."_

 _"That's even better news. I love you too."_

I sat on the ground with my back leaning against the wall, and simply let the tears run down my face. This continued for what seemed like hours, although I was sure that wasn't correct. Eventually, though, I grew rather tired, and because I hadn't been sleeping well (again), I permitted myself to drift off to sleep.

–

 _I'm on board a ship, leaning over the railing and watching the sun tuck itself below the horizon line. I'm humming a sort of hauntingly beautiful tune, and I can hear familiar voices shouting on deck around me._

 _"Vhy haff ve come up to the surface?" I hear Grigor asking._

 _I now realize we are aboard Durmstrang's ship._

 _"I cannot steer the wheel!" Sasha Polinskiy shouts._

 _My focus, however, remains on the sunset and the open waters. And despite the chaos on the ship, I can hear someone joining in with my humming, only it doesn't sound like a bloke and it doesn't seem to be coming from on the ship. I shift my gaze downward and find a woman in the water, her head bobbing above the surface, humming with me. She then opens her mouth and starts to sing the words; I join her._

 _"Upon one summer's morning, I carelessly did stray,_

 _Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,_

 _Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seemed to be in pain,_

 _Saying, William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again."_

 _"Demetria!" I hear Viktor call. "Vut are you doing?!"_

 _"Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be,_

 _Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea,_

 _While up aloft, in storm or gale, from me his absence mourn,_

 _And firmly pray, arrive the day, he home will safe return."_

 _"Vut is_ — _" Viktor is at my side, but instantly becomes distracted by the woman in the water with whom I am still singing._

 _"My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair,_

 _And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year,_

 _My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,_

 _There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold."_

 _The last note of the song hangs in the air for a moment as Viktor leans further and further over the ship's railing. I stand motionless, watching the woman in the water, until she finally makes a move_ — _and then, so do I._

 _She leaps up from the water, revealing the tail where her feet should be, and I push Viktor to the deck before the woman can pull him to the water._

 _"Morska sirena!" Viktor shouts._

 _I notice all of the other blokes rushing around, trying to keep back from the railing, trying to cast Charms on the ship so we can return below the ocean's surface. I rush to the wheel and try my hardest to turn the ship around, but something stops me. I hear another woman humming, but this time the voice is familiar to me._

 _There is chaos aboard the ship once again as I watch some of my Durmstrang brothers dragged into the water from over the railing, but it doesn't stop me. I make my way back over to the starboard railing and see my mother in the water. She is humming the same sea shanty as she reaches a hand out of the ocean, the silver oval-shaped locket sitting in her palm. But when I reach out to take it, the scene immediately changes._

 _I begin falling into the water, and I'm no longer after the locket, but the golden egg from the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. I'm cutting through the dark waters of the Black Lake and I can hear the snickering of Nikolai Pavel as well as the song the merpeople sang about retrieving what was taken from each of the champions._

 _When I finally reach out and grab the egg, however, the scene changes yet again. Now, I'm back in the prefects' bathroom, bobbing above the surface of the pool-sized bathtub. Staring down at me, from the golden-framed portrait which hung before me, was not the same blonde mermaid I remembered seeing, but my mother . . . and she is singing._

 _"My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,_

 _There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold."_

–

I woke up and found myself sort of humming the tune from my dream . . . I also found myself wondering if it meant anything, or if it was just that — a dream.

One thing I was certain of, however, was that it was now afternoon and I'd slept through the entire morning. Checking my watch, I realized lunch had just ended and I was missing the start of Potions, not to mention I'd already missed both History of Magic and Arithmancy. I knew I was bound to have fallen behind and I didn't think my professors would continue to excuse me regardless of my Lumen situation.

I groaned and went to get up from the floor, but noticed something dangling in front of me. My heart leapt in my chest as my hands immediately fumbled around my neck, until they made contact with something cold. I pulled the item as far away from my body as I could to further inspect it, and sure enough, the silver, oval-shaped and oddly-inscribed locket was hanging around my neck.

For the first time in quite a while, I could genuinely say I was feeling an emotion I was beginning to think was lost to me: happiness. I sprung up from the floor of the Astronomy Tower and rushed to where I was sure I remembered finding the Divination classroom the previous year. Luckily, I ended up in the correct spot, climbing the ladder and making my way through the circular trapdoor to Professor Trelawney's classroom — still looking like a cross between an old-fashioned tea shop and someone's attic.

"Do not speak to me about that woman!" I immediately heard Trelawney shout. I turned and saw her speaking to Parvati and Lavender, beads rattling and spectacles flashing; she was just as bug-like as I remembered. "Kindly continue with your work!"

"Professor!" I said.

Professor Trelawney's large, tear-filled bug-eyes widened even more when they saw me. Everyone else in the classroom appeared just as surprised to see me.

"Demetria Harris?" said Trelawney. "What is the — ?"

"I have the locket!" I told her gleefully.

She didn't seem to understand. "You have the — ?"

"The locket! Last year you told me to return with the locket!" I said impatiently. "Light — capital L!"

Her magnified eyes widened yet again. "Capital L!" she said loudly. "Yes! Bring it here, child! Everyone else, back to work!"

I rushed over and held out my hand to her with the locket, but she pushed it away.

"You must open it first," she told me.

"Wh — I dunno how," I said, already growing irritated with her. "You said the locket was the key!"

"It holds the answers, yes, but there is a key to unlock the key!" she continued in her usual theatrics.

"Then why did you say to bring the locket to you?!" I said, exasperated. "Do I even need you for —"

"Demetria!" hissed Lavender.

I looked back and saw Trelawney's bug-eyes about to overflow with tears.

"Perhaps if I were not such a substandard teacher —"

"What? Ugh — I didn't — You're not —"

But my pathetic attempts were useless as Trelawney continued to mutter to herself. I sighed in defeat.

"Professor, d'you reckon you could . . . write me a note . . . for Snape's class . . ."

But Trelawney wasn't paying attention, and Lavender and Parvati were glaring at me as though Trelawney's poor evaluation from Umbridge was my fault.

"Ugh, forget it," I groaned, turning to leave; everyone's eyes were still on me. "Do your work!"

My fellow fifth years shifted their gazes back into their books and I left through the trapdoor. I stared at the locket in my hands for a while until finally clasping it around my neck. I had no idea how to open it, but I was already worried that going back to sleep and having the wrong dream might take it away from me before I could do so. I was still racking my brain for some sort of idea to open it when I made it to Potions.

"Demetria," drawled Snape, "how kind of you to join us. You are late."

"I'm sorry, Professor," I said blankly, taking my usual spot beside Adrian.

Snape walked over and eyed me curiously.

"You are not going to entertain me with your excuse?"

"No," I said, voice hollow. "I'll just take my punishment."

Perhaps it was because Snape figured my tardiness was due to my Lumen powers, or maybe he simply appreciated that I owned up to it without any excuses — _maybe_ it was because Snape actually seemed to tolerate me — but he did not give me any punishment.

He stared at me silently for a moment, black eyes giving away no emotion, before saying, "I expect a vile of Grand Wiggenweld Potion from you by the end of class." And then he walked off.

I immediately went to work, knowing I had less time than everyone else, but all the while, my mind was elsewhere. I wished I could've held onto those moments of happiness that I'd been experiencing before. I didn't think it would've been possible, but I was actually feeling even worse — so incredibly hopeless and anxious, with a Godric-awful weight on my chest. Somehow, that tiny locket felt like I was bearing the weight of the world around my neck. Just when I'd solved one mystery, there was another secret waiting to be decoded.

"Dem, what's wrong?" Adrian asked softly from beside me.

I hadn't even realized how vigorously I'd been stirring the cauldron. I stopped for a moment and realized something.

"I can't handle this," I admitted quietly, desolately.

I'd _just_ written to Remus, telling him I could handle the advanced classes and the work-load, and even my powers coming in . . . but that wasn't true anymore . . . The sodding locket was back in my life, my powers were getting out of control — and because of that, I had to keep leaving classes, so I was falling behind. Not to mention Finn had marked me as Public Enemy Number 1 — Oh, and my boyfriend was still dead.

"D'you want some help?" Adrian said sweetly.

"Not the potion, Adrian," I told him despairingly. I could feel the Light surging throughout my hands and had to stop grinding the unicorn horn out of fear that I might completely destroy it. "I can't do _any_ of this!"

"Oy, I reckon the ickle fifth year's finally having a meltdown," I heard someone say, though I wasn't sure if they actually said it or if I just read someone's mind.

I tried to ignore it though, my hands shaking as I added the mixture to the cauldron. Adrian noticed and reached out to take hold of my hands, but I was worried I'd hurt him, so I quickly pulled them away. Unfortunately, that was when the white flash of Light blasted from my palms and shot Adrian across the room. Everyone was staring at me.

"I'm so sorry, Adrian!" I exclaimed, frustrated. "That was an accident!"

I heard Adrian assure me it was all right before Snape had rushed to my side.

"Harris, my office, now," he said gravely and immediately took off; I followed.

I'd only been in Snape's office once before, the previous year when he taught me Occlumency to block out Voldemort . . . This time around, I was not in as much pain, but I was certainly just as on-edge.

"Snape — _Ugh_ — Professor!" I corrected myself for the umpteenth time. "I'm sorry — no excuses — I can't control it anymore —"

"Demetria," said Snape calmly, holding out a pair of black gloves to me. "Dragonclaw gloves — they should absorb the majority of your Light."

I took them and noticed, as I slid one on, it molded to fit my hand better.

"I believe they worked for your mother," he said quietly.

I froze in the middle of sliding on the other glove. "You — I didn't know you two were friends . . ."

"Acquaintances," he told me. I thought he might've said more, but he didn't. "I still expect a vile on my desk before you leave today."

"Right, yeah, I can do that," I said, trying to convince myself that was true. I flexed my gloved fingers; for being made of claw, they were surprisingly skin-like. "Thanks, Professor."

Snape gave his usual nod before I went back out to finish my potion, which I somehow managed to do before the bell rang, although just barely. I was the last to place my vile on his desk, and when I did, Snape stopped me before I could turn and leave.

"Excessive tardiness will not be tolerated," he said.

"It won't happen again, Professor," I assured him, and left.

When I arrived just outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry and Ron immediately descended upon me, asking what I'd interrupted their Divination class for.

"Something about a locket?" Harry said, interested.

"Is it about your Light?" Ron inquired.

"Why are you wearing those gloves?" Hermione chimed in curiously.

"Er, I'll explain later," I said, trying to move past them and get through the door.

"Come by our common room tonight," said Harry. "I got a letter from Snuffles — same time, same place."

And though Hermione didn't look too pleased with my breaking the rules again, she didn't object. I told them I would be there, but so as not to overstay my welcome, I didn't make my way up to Gryffindor Tower until it was well past midnight. The Fat Lady was not happy about my waking her, but I don't reckon I'd ever seen her in a pleasant mood. Regardless, I climbed through the portrait hole and was instantly greeted by the Golden Trio, no one else occupying the common room.

"Hey, Demetria," said Ron groggily.

"Hello, hope I haven't missed anything," I said.

"He hasn't come yet," Harry told me.

"Good," I said before turning to Hermione. "So how did you know it wasn't one of my Slytherin friends who ran and told Umbridge?"

"Oh, well, first of all, I'm willing to trust anyone you do," she told me confidently. "I knew you wouldn't bring someone like Malfoy. And I — Well, I sort of — jinxed the parchment we all signed."

"No kidding?" I said, amused. "What happens to the person who tells, then?"

"We were told they would make Eloise Midgen's acne look like a couple of cute freckles," said Ron, chuckling a bit. "So what's this locket business?"

And I wasn't sure why, but I told them. I hadn't told anyone except Finn, and being that Finn wasn't exactly around anymore, I supposed I just wanted to have someone to talk to about it.

"Maybe it won't go away this time," Harry offered. "Y'know, now that your powers are really coming in . . ."

"That's true," Hermione agreed. "Maybe you're really supposed to have it now."

"Yeah, I guess that could be — Sirius!"

I'd caught sight of Sirius's untidy dark hair sitting in the fire again.

"Hi," he said, grinning.

"Hi," the four of us chorused, all now kneeling upon the hearthrug.

"How're things?" said Sirius.

"Not that good," said Harry, reading my mind. "The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams —"

"— or secret Defense Against the Dark Arts groups?" said Sirius.

There was a short pause.

"How did you know about that?" Harry demanded.

"Probably because we had a meeting in the most suspicious pub possible," I said with a breath of laughter.

"She's right," said Sirius, grinning still more broadly, "you want to choose your meeting places more carefully."

"Well, the Three Broomsticks is always packed with people —" Hermione began defensively.

"— so it would've been harder to be overheard," Sirius and I said together.

"You've got a lot to learn, Hermione," he told her, still grinning.

"Who overheard us?" Harry demanded.

"Mundungus, of course," said Sirius. "He was the witch under the veil."

"That was Mundungus?" Harry said, stunned. I hadn't noticed this witch under the veil, but Harry obviously did. "What was he doing in the Hog's Head?"

"What do you think he was doing?" said Sirius impatiently. "Keeping an eye on you, of course."

"I'm still being followed?" asked Harry angrily.

"Yeah, you are," said Sirius, "and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do on your weekend off is organize an illegal defense group."

But he looked neither angry nor worried; on the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.

"Why was Dung hiding from us?" asked Ron, sounding disappointed. "We'd've liked to've seen him."

"He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago," said Sirius, "and that barman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately . . . Anyway . . . First of all, Ron — I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother."

"Oh yeah?" said Ron, sounding apprehensive.

"She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also advises Harry, Demetria, and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you'd all have been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight."

"On duty doing what?" said Ron quickly.

"Never you mind, just stuff for the Order," said Sirius. "So it's fallen to me to be the messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don't think she trusts me to."

There was another pause in which Crookshanks, mewing, attempted to paw Sirius's head, and Ron fiddled with a hole in the heartrug.

"So you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the defense group?" he muttered finally.

"Me? Certainly not!" said Sirius, looking surprised. "I think it's an excellent idea!"

"You do?" said Harry.

I wasn't sure why he was surprised; I certainly wasn't. If it was something rebellious, I knew Sirius would approve . . . perhaps that's suddenly what made me so worried, that it _was_ Sirius-approved . . .

"Of course I do!" he said. "D'you think your father and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?"

 _Ah, the usual mention of Harry's father to top it all off . . ._

"But — last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks —"

"Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!" said Sirius impatiently. "This year we know that there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!"

"And if we do get expelled?" Hermione asked, a quizzical look on her face.

"Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!" said Harry.

"I know it was . . . I just wondered what Sirius thought," she said, shrugging.

"Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue," said Sirius. "And I reckon Demetria has some connections over at Durmstrang if you care to transfer."

"It's true," I said, smirking, "you could be the second girl to ever attend. Classes are much more advanced and —"

"But no Vicky," said Ron bitingly.

"So," Sirius intervened, "how are you organizing this group? Where are you meeting?"

"Well, that's a bit of a problem now," said Harry. "Dunno where we're going to be able to go . . ."

"How about the Shrieking Shack?" suggested Sirius.

"Hey, that's an idea!" said Ron excitedly, but Hermione made a skeptical noise.

"Well, Sirius, it's just that there were only four of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you were at school," said Hermione, "and all of you could transform into animals and I suppose you could all have squeezed under a single Invisibility Cloak if you'd wanted to. But there are thirty-four of us and none of us is an Animagus, so we wouldn't need so much an Invisibility Cloak as an Invisibility Marquee —"

"Fair point," said Sirius, looking slightly crestfallen. "Well, I'm sure you'll come up with somewhere . . . There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practice jinxes in there —"

"Fred and George told me it's blocked," said Harry, shaking his head. "Caved in or something."

I wondered if Finn might've known a place, being that he practically studied _Hogwarts: A History_. But I wasn't planning on asking him . . . and I was sure he would've suggested a place if he knew of one.

"Oh . . ." said Sirius, frowning. "Well, I'll have a think and get back to —"

He broke off, his face suddenly tense, alarmed. He turned sideways, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.

"Sirius?" said Harry anxiously.

But he had vanished. We all gaped at the flames for a moment, then turned to look at one another.

"Where did he — ?"

Hermione gave a horrified gasp and leapt to her feet, still staring at the fire. A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings . . .

The four of us shot up, Harry telling me to wait as he took off for the boys' dormitory. Ron followed him and Hermione ran to her own dormitory, but only Harry returned and tossed me a silver garment. I recognized it as an Invisibility Cloak and immediately wrapped myself in it, heading for the portrait hole. When I took a final look back at the fireplace, Umbridge's hand was still making snatching movements amongst the flames, as though she knew exactly where Sirius's hair had been moments before and was determined to seize it.


	12. Chapter 11: Spark of the Rebellion

_**Chapter Eleven**_

 _Spark of the Rebellion_

:.:.:

Hermione told me she believed Umbridge had been reading Harry's mail, and since I was clearly not on Umbridge's list of favorites, she advised me to be careful about my letters as well. I didn't have many secrets to discuss via owl post, but I assured her I'd be careful. I was also informed one particularly rainy afternoon that they'd found a spot to have the first Defense meeting.

"Tonight, eight o'clock, seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls."

I passed that message along to Daphne and Tracey during our Care of Magical Creatures lesson (which had been moved inside due to the downpour) and then to Adrian at dinner. When the bell rang and I saw Finn get up from the bench (because he was no longer sitting next to me these days), I made my way over to tell him about the meeting as sort of a peace offering.

"Have you heard about — ?"

"The meeting, yeah," said Finn quietly, voice on-edge.

"Finn, I'm sorry," I blurted out.

He stopped walking and looked to me with frustration.

"Why are you sorry?"

"What?" I said, confused.

"You don't even know why you're apologizing," he said.

"I'm apologizing for getting mad at you . . ." I said lamely, and when Finn rolled his eyes, I added with frustration of my own, "I dunno what you want from me."

"I dunno what you want from _me_ ," he pressed. "You want to talk about Cedric? Talk — talk all you want. But you've only brought him up to me once or twice and, y'know what, I wasn't sure what to say. I still don't know what to say. But hey, if you've got someone who'll listen to the same shite over and over, that's ace. Maybe Adrian should be your best mate — or your new boyfriend — instead of just sticking with me 'cause I'm the only Durmstrang friend you've got left. And let's not pretend we've been friends forever, because the truth of the matter is that we only just met a year ago and —"

He broke off, and I wasn't sure why until I realized I was about to cry . . . I immediately rushed off for the common room and buried myself in homework up in the fifth year girls' dormitory, trying not to think too much about what Finn had said. I didn't want to figure out if it was true or if he was just simply upset.

At about half-past seven Daphne, Tracey, and I left our dormitory and found both Adrian and Finn in the common room already. I caught sight of them first and whipped back around, bolting for the stairs.

"Forgot something," I muttered to Daphne and Tracey.

"Should we wait fo — ?"

"No," I cut off Tracey.

I retreated back to my dormitory to wait, hoping there would be a great enough distance between Finn and I. And yes, I realized it was rather stupid of me to do, but . . . Hell, I didn't even have an excuse, I just didn't want to be around him. After about ten minutes or so, I went down to the common room for take two, although I didn't find it to be empty as I was hoping.

"Hey, what took you so long?"

Adrian had waited for me.

"I told Tracey you guys could go on without me," I said sheepishly.

"I didn't mind waiting," he insisted with a charming smile. "We should get going."

And so we did. Sneaking wasn't exactly necessary because our curfew wasn't until nine o'clock, but we still did our best to keep our voices down.

"I know things aren't okay," said Adrian out of the blue. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Er, I don't think Finn and I are friends anymore . . ." I said blankly.

"I sort of figured," he admitted. "But I'm sure it's not permanent — probably just had an argument, right?"

"I dunno, I feel like . . . maybe I've been a poor excuse for a friend," I confessed sadly.

"That's not it," Adrian insisted.

"How d'you know?" I said, chuckling a little. "You barely know me."

"Demetria, I'm hurt," he said mockingly, clutching his heart. "I'd say we shared a rather personal conversation not too long ago."

"That's only because you're smitten with me."

 _You. Bloody. Idiot._

I'd been smiling just a second ago, until I realized what I'd let slip. We'd nearly reached the seventh floor, but I stood frozen on the very last step. But, sort of to my surprise, Adrian laughed.

"You can unfreeze, Dem, it's fine," he told me, grinning.

"You mean you . . . ?" And honestly, I had no idea where that sentence was going, so I was very thankful when Adrian jumped in.

"I'm not upset or anything, if that's what you're worried about," he said kindly. When I continued to just stare at him like a tosspot, he added, "I thought it was rather obvious that I liked you considering I tried to kiss you every year at the Malfoy's Christmas Ball —"

"That was years ago!" I said, back to chuckling.

"You didn't let me finish," he said, feigning seriousness and raising his eyebrows.

We were just outside the room I assumed we'd be using for the Defense meeting.

"— considering I tried to kiss you every year at Malfoy's ball, I asked you to the Yule Ball in hopes of finally doing the very same thing, _and_ I sit with you in the Great Hall even though I have, time and time again, voiced my dislike for the younger Slytherins."

"Right . . . I, er —"

The door opened and Hermione was standing on the other side of it.

"Demetria, we thought we heard your voice!" said Hermione, welcoming us in. "I reckon that's everyone."

I'd never seen the spacious room we were standing in before. It was lit with flickering torches like those that illuminated the dungeons eight floors below. The walls were lined with wooden bookcases, and instead of chairs there were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the room appeared to carry a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass that I thought I remembered seeing hung, the previous year, in the fake Moody's office.

"So Hogwarts has just had a secret Defense training room that no one knew about before tonight?" I asked Hermione.

"It's called the Room of Requirement," she told me. "Apparently it can hold whatever someone is in need of."

"Like chamber pots," said Harry with a knowing smile.

I remembered Dumbledore telling us a story at the Yule Ball last year about how he happened upon a room filled with chamber pots when he desperately needed a bathroom. I guessed this was the very same room.

Harry went to lock the door as Adrian and I moved to occupy the last two available cushions on the floor. Once the key had loudly clicked in the lock, everyone fell silent and looked to Harry.

"Well," he said, slightly nervously. "This is the place we've found for practices, and you've — er — obviously found it okay —"

"It's fantastic!" said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement.

"It's bizarre," said Fred, frowning around at it. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then. . ."

"Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?" asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass.

"Dark Detectors," said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. "Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled. . . Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and — er — What, Hermione?"

Her hand was in the air.

"I think we ought to elect a leader," she said.

"Harry's leader," said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad.

"Yeah, I thought that was already decided," I said.

"Well, I just thought we could vote on it properly in case . . . anyone else wanted to . . ." Her voice trailed off and I knew exactly where it was going.

"Hermione, I'm sure Harry's much better at Defense than I am," I said, everyone now turned to face me.

"It wouldn't hurt to have two leaders . . ." Harry suggested.

My mind brought me back to the night in the graveyard when I'd come to the conclusion that Harry's life was more valuable than mine — that he was the king on the chess board and I was just another pawn willing to fight, willing to die. But then I also remembered thinking a very similar thought more recently at 12 Grimmauld Place, only to realize I'd been wrong. Molly Weasley had said not to tell Harry more than he needed to know . . . but at the end of the conversation, she said they were told not to tell _us_ more than we needed to know. Sirius mentioned two weapons that Voldemort was after . . . he mentioned my Light . . . Perhaps I counted for more than a pawn, after all.

"I s'pose I could . . . _co_ -lead," I said before quickly adding, "if everyone votes on it."

"So," said Hermione, grinning at me, "everyone who thinks Harry and Demetria ought to be our leaders?"

"Leader and co-leader," I corrected; Hermione seemed disappointed.

Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith and Finn, though they both did it very halfheartedly.

"Right, thanks," said Harry. "All right, so — _what_ , Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," she said brightly, hand still in the air. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" said Angelina hopefully.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" suggested Fred.

"Hear, hear," I said fervently.

"I was thinking more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to," said Hermione with a frown, "so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defense Association?" said Cho. "The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?"

"Yeah, the D.A.'s good," said Ginny. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

There was a great deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

"All in favor of the D.A.?" said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. "That's a majority — motion passed!"

She pinned the piece of paper with all of our names on it to the wall and wrote DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY across the top in large letters.

"Right," said Harry when she had sat down again, "shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus_ , you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it pretty useful —"

"Oh _please_ ," said Zacharias, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. "I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

"I've used it against him and it saved my life," Harry said. "But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave."

Zacharias didn't move.

"Okay," said Harry, "I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice."

We all got to our feet, everyone doubling up.

"I'll try to go easy on you," I told Adrian with a smirk.

"Oh, please do," he teased, mirroring it.

"Right — on the count of three, then —" said Harry, "— one, two, three —"

The room was suddenly full of shouts of " _Expelliarmus!_ ": Wands flew in all directions, missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air. I was too quick for Adrian, his wand spinning out of hand and rolling away on the ground behind him.

"Lucky shot," he defended, still smirking.

But if that was the case, I was exceptionally lucky. We only went a few more times, but Adrian didn't disarm me once. Suddenly, a whistle blew and we all looked to Harry.

"That wasn't bad," he said, "but there's definite room for improvement. Let's try again . . ."

Harry began circling the room, offering help to those in need, and Adrian finally sent my wand flying from my grip.

"Did you let that happen?" he asked me.

I shook my head and he raised his hands in the air.

"Finally!" he exclaimed; I giggled. "You're tougher than you look, Harris!"

"Well, aren't you a brave soul going up against this tiny terror," teased George as he rushed toward me to retrieve his wand from the floor. "Happy disarming!" he said to me with a wink before walking off.

My eyes followed him for a moment, expecting to see him return to Fred, but Fred was nearby practicing with Angelina. Instead, there was a girl waiting for George — the third Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team whose name I never learned. She had long, light brown hair and a perfect smile as she laughed at something George said; she was very pretty, sort of effortlessly pretty . . .

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Adrian shouted, sending my wand flying back again.

"That doesn't count!" I defended, snapping back from my daze.

"There are no rules when you're fighting Death Eaters!" said Adrian, laughing. "You've always got to be ready!"

Harry blew his whistle again.

"Well, that was pretty good," he said, "but we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?"

"Sooner!" said Dean eagerly, many people nodding in agreement.

Angelina, however, said quickly, "The Quidditch season's about to start, we need team practices too!"

"Let's say next Wednesday night, then," said Harry, "and we can decide on additional meetings then . . . Come on, we'd better get going . . ."

Harry was watching the Marauder's Map and having everyone leave in small groups. Adrian was standing by me and we were waiting to be given the all clear, but I was also near Ginny.

"Hey, Gin," I said to her airily, "who's that girl over by George?"

She followed my gaze.

"Alicia Spinnet," she told me. "Huh, I reckon he's finally decided to give her a chance."

"What d'you mean?" I inquired, keeping my tone casual.

"Alicia's had a crush on George for nearly forever," she said before giving me a knowing smile. "Are you jealous?"

"Demetria," said Harry, "you two can go now. Brilliant job tonight, by the way."

"Thanks, Harry," I told him brightly before turning back to Ginny and quietly telling her, "Not at all."

Ginny didn't looked as though she believed me . . . and I didn't know if I believed myself either.


	13. Chapter 12: Hurricane Harris

_I posted another chapter because I didn't realize Chapter 11 was so short. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

 _Hurricane Harris_

:.:.:

 _I recognize the scene instantly: the year is 1990, the place_ — _Malfoy Manor. The mansion is decorated elaborately in Christmas couture and abundant in both Pure and half-bloods. The wizards are wrapped in their finest dress robes, the witches in their most elegant ball gowns. Lights reflect off of crystal chandeliers and the moon attempts to spill in through the windows. A black-and-white suited band finishes a rather upbeat song up in the front of the ballroom, leaving the middle to whomever wishes to dance. Off to both sides, several round tables are placed, and seated at one particular table is an aging grey-haired wizard I recognize as Grandad. I am at this table too, swinging my feet back and forth in my chair but they do not reach the floor. I'm ten years old._

 _"Grandad," I whine as the band begins to play a slower song, "I want to go home."_

 _"Patience, Tria," he tells me softly._

 _I groan, throwing my back against the chair and crossing my arms._

 _"Why don't you find someone to dance with?" Grandad suggests._

 _"I'll dance with you," says a boy, appearing at my side._

 _He's much taller than me, but only a bit older. His short, brown hair is cleanly parted on the side and appears slicked with something, his light blue eyes fixed upon me._

 _I look to Grandad who is encouraging me to go on._

 _"Okay," I say indifferently, taking the boy's hand as he leads me to the dancefloor where we begin to dance._

 _"I'm Adrian, by the way," he tells me._

 _"I'm Demetria," I return. "My grandad's been making me dance with boys all night."_

 _"He wants you to find your soulmate," says Adrian simply._

 _"What?" I say bluntly._

 _"That's what my dad told me," he explains. "We have to find someone we really like here tonight so that we can marry them one day."_

 _I wrinkle my nose._

 _"Sounds stupid."_

 _Adrian laughs._

 _"Yeah," he agrees, "but we have to keep the tradition going."_

 _"What tradition?" I inquire._

 _"I dunno, that's just what my dad said."_

 _I look over at the table and see Grandad talking with a dark-haired man; they're both looking at Adrian and I._

 _"You're really pretty," Adrian says._

 _When I turn my gaze back to him, he's leaning in closer to me with his eyes closed. Unsure of what to do, I turn to look back at Grandad at Adrian's lips land on my cheek. But when I look at him again, the scene has changed. Adrian is older now and he's wearing black and white dress robes._

 _"I do," he says, gazing into my eyes._

 _I take a brief look around_ — _it's a wedding . . ._ my _wedding, apparently._

 _"And do you, Demetria, take Adrian . . . ?" says the man standing between us, but I stop listening when someone appears behind Adrian._

 _"Are you sure he's the one you want, Tri?"_

 _George is standing beside Adrian in black and white robes of his own, but no one seems to notice him but me._

 _"Don't get me wrong, he's not a bad bloke, but d'you really want to be Mrs. Pucey?"_

 _"I . . . I . . ."_

 _Adrian is looking at me with worry on his face, and George is looking rather hopeful. My gaze is shifting between both of them until a third man dressed in black and white dress robes appears on Adrian's other side._

 _"Hello, sweetheart," he says warmly._

 _Cedric._

–

When I woke up, the first thing I did was check for the locket. I breathed a sigh of relief as I found it around my neck, but didn't want to go back to sleep for fear that it might disappear if I had the right dream — or rather, the _wrong_ dream. I also tried not to read into too much detail on the dream I just had . . . Instead, despite the early hour, I got out of my four-poster, got dressed, and took my Firebolt down to the Quidditch pitch. It was the day of the very first Quidditch match of the season — Slytherin versus Gryffindor — and everyone was rather excited, even the professors. I didn't realize how much the Quidditch Cup meant to everyone, especially Snape. I hadn't expected him to care, but he'd been booking the pitch for our team incredibly often.

The cold November air provided me with a sense of nostalgia — this was the sort of weather we'd been having when I came to Hogwarts for the very first time. There was a hard frost coating the pitch as I entered the stadium, not to mention someone else already on their broom tossing a Quaffle through the goalposts.

"It doesn't do much good to practice by yourself," I called up to him.

Adrian looked down at me and smiled.

"Just warming up a bit," he said. "Literally."

I mounted my broom and joined him up in the air.

"What're you nervous?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno, maybe," he admitted. "We've never beaten Gryffindor as long as Potter's been their Seeker."

"Well, you blokes didn't have _me_ before."

But just as I'd said that, my hands had heated up and sent a blast of Light to my broom handle, causing me to lose my grip and nearly fly off the Firebolt. Luckily, my legs wrapped my broom as I spun completely upside down for a second. As I expected, Adrian laughed.

"Yes, thank Salazar we've got you now," he teased.

"Shut it, I'll be fine once I have my gloves," I insisted, though chuckling a bit too.

"Sort of inconvenient, isn't it?" Adrian inquired sort of gravely as he looked at my hands.

"To say the least," I said, my tone still light.

He smiled when he looked back into my eyes.

"Figures it would be you," he said softly. "You're anything but ordinary, Harris."

I knew he meant it as a compliment, but it didn't seem like a gift to me . . . Maybe once I knew how to control it, but for the time being, it felt like more of a curse — just another thing to make me that misunderstood Augurey.

"Can I ask you something?"

I had a feeling I knew exactly what it would be about.

"If you can score on me," I challenged, flying in front of the goalposts.

Adrian smirked and turned on his broom, taking to the middle of the field. He waited a moment and then, suddenly, whipped back around and started flying at me, shifting from side to side. I tried my best to figure out which post he would aim for . . . He seemed to be going for the far left post, but I knew he'd try to trick me, so when I moved back to the middle, I ended up catching the Quaffle he threw right at me.

"Is there anything you _can't_ do?!" he asked, amused.

"I can't bake," I told him, tossing the Quaffle back.

"It can't be any harder than brewing a potion," he said.

"You'd think!" I said in jest. "I dunno, just something about it throws me off — maybe the 'kiss the chef' apron."

He laughed, but I could see in his eyes he was disappointed he hadn't scored and couldn't ask me that question . . . so I answered it anyway, without even reading his mind.

"Adrian, I dunno how I feel," I admitted seriously. "I think you're great, but it's —"

"— too soon," he finished.

 _And too confusing,_ I thought. _Bloody hell, am I seriously getting feelings for George?_

I quickly pushed the thought out of my mind and told him, "I'm sorry."

But he, as always, was very understanding and kind. "Don't be," he said. "But am I correct in thinking you don't _not_ like me . . . ?"

"Yes, you're correct," I said, giggling a bit.

It was then that I saw an owl flying toward us — Ares. I took a letter and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from his feet, which was odd considering I didn't have a subscription with them. Regardless, I thanked him before he flew off, probably to the Owlery to rest.

"Fan mail?" Adrian teased.

I rolled my eyes, though still smiling until I noticed there was only one letter. One of my brothers hadn't written back. Checking the handwriting, I noticed the only response came from Grigor.

 _Demetria,_

 _I am sorry I cannot be there for you during this difficult time. I am also sorry it has taken me so long to write back. I will not lie, writing in English is harder than speaking it, so that took some time, but the other reason is I have been busy with work. I do hope, though, that by now, Finn has realized how stupid he is being. If not, it will not last,_ _сестро_ _._ **[sis]** _We made up and you two will too._

 _As for this Lumen business, I think you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. I know things are hard, I know you miss Cedric, but he would not want this for you, this being sad all the time. I also know you cannot just flip a switch but try your best to relax. Dumbledore will find someone to help you, and in the mean time, you can skip class. That sounds like a good time to me, no? Viktor would not approve, but I do._

 _Please write with any more problems. I will do my best to help. I hope to see you soon,_ _сестро_ _._ _Липсваш ми много_ _._ **[I miss you a lot]**

 _с_ _любов_ _,_ **[With love,]**

 _Grigor_

I'd been right: I felt much better after reading the response. I only wished Viktor had sent something too . . .

I checked the _Daily Prophet_ , thinking that maybe someone sent it to me, but I couldn't see why until happening upon something written in smaller print than the main articles: _See Inside: Missed Harris?_

I groaned.

"What is it?" Adrian inquired.

"I think I'm in here."

He flew closer to me as I found the small article inside and we began reading together.

 _If you've been holding your breath waiting for us to tell you that the greatest Chaser for the Tutshill Tornados and perhaps in Quidditch history, Aiden Harris, is back from the dead, you'll probably be disappointed to find out that isn't the case. BUT what if we told you there was an heir to the throne? Another Harris that could possibly sport the sky blue robes? It's Harris's daughter, Demetria, and don't worry, readers, this reporter wouldn't leave you in the dark on this fifteen-year-old's Quidditch talent!_

 _"Demetria is, without a doubt, one of the best Quidditch players I have ever seen," says World Class Seeker and good friend of Harris, Viktor Krum. "I know that carrying on her father's legacy is very important to her, and she is so passionate. I would be surprised if she was not asked to sign with the Tornados_ — _or any other team_ — _before even graduating school."_

 _Sounds promising! But just to be sure, with the first Quidditch match of the season coming to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, this reporter had better get down there and check it out. Will Demetria Harris bring Slytherin the Quidditch Cup, or will she put the Harris name to shame? STAY TUNED!_

I was speechless . . . I guess Viktor didn't send me _nothing_ . . .

"All right, now I'm _really_ nervous," said Adrian.

But as I would soon find out, that wasn't even the best part. It turned out, that article got quite a bit of attention from all sorts of professional Quidditch team managers, agents, and coaches. I wasn't aware of this until just moments before the match, when one of them actually finagled their way into the changing room.

"Who're you?" I heard Montague demand.

"Richard Ringwald," replied an older male voice, confidently. "I'm looking for Demetria Harris."

"Oy, Captain!"

I'd just pulled my green robes over my head before making my way over to the doorway. Before I could do so, however, Draco had bounded in front of me.

"Mr. Ringwald," he gushed, shaking Ringwald's hand, "it's great to meet you! I've been a huge fan ever since you first started writing for _Quidditch Illustrated_. My name's Draco Malfoy —"

"Aces, kid," said Ringwald listlessly. "Is Harris here or — ?"

"That's me," I said.

Draco moved aside and I could finally see the reporter he'd been drooling all over. Richard Ringwald stood at nearly six feet, seeming somewhere in his late thirties at most, with short, tousled jet-black hair and a minor goatee. He wore thick, square, black frames, and an older teenage boy lurked behind him with a rather large wizarding camera.

"Your last article on Gwenog Jones was positively brilliant!" Draco continued in adoration.

"Yeah, thanks, kid," said Ringwald dismissively before extending a hand to me which I shook. "Demetria Harris — Richard Ringwald, top reporter for _Quidditch Illustrated_. Perhaps you saw my little article in the _Prophet_ this morning?"

"Yeah I did, actually," I said.

"Great, so if I could borrow you for a moment?" he said. "Just need a quick picture for the cover."

"The _cover_?" Draco and I had chorused. I was confused, Draco was outraged.

"You heard me," said Ringwald with a small grin. "If you could grab your broomstick and follow Clarence. . ."

I turned to retrieve my Firebolt, but Adrian was already at my side, handing it to me. I then followed the bloke with the camera — Clarence — out of the changing area and into the semi-darkness as we stood just before the door which led out to the stadium.

"What exactly should I be doing?" I asked.

"Nothing fancy or flashy," Ringwald replied. "Don't want to give anything away. We'll save the shots from the match for the article itself."

"We can take as many as you'd like," Clarence told me kindly. "I'm still sort of new at this."

And he immediately began snapping pictures, although I wasn't really doing anything. I was casually leaned up against the door, listening to the crowd out in the stands already cheering, my hands wrapped around my Firebolt.

"Clarence here's an intern, just out of school," Ringwald informed me proudly.

"Hogwarts?" I inquired curiously. I didn't think I remembered seeing him around the previous year.

"Nah, Muggle school," Clarence said. "I'm a Squib."

I'd made the mistake of looking at Clarence and forgot he was snapping pictures. The light from the camera was incredibly blinding, and all I could make out was a hazy blond-haired boy and thousands of multi-colored dots floating around him.

"Sorry," I said, trying to get my eyes to re-adjust.

"Don't be, it's perfect," said Ringwald decidedly, looking over Clarence's shoulder. "We'd best be getting to our seats. Pleasure to meet you, Harris, make us proud."

And with that, Ringwald had disappeared back down the corridor, Clarence following after and muttering a quick "good luck" to me. I made my way back into the changing room.

"Just about ready, gents?" I asked, retrieving the gloves Snape had given me.

That was when I first noticed them — the badges. They were silver and in the shape of crowns, reading WEASLEY IS OUR KING. Draco, Montague, and Bletchley were each wearing one.

"Take those off," I demanded.

I thought I'd have to ask again, but they all listened to me, though reluctantly.

"Doesn't matter," said Draco quietly, "there's more where that came from."

I figured they wouldn't've been the only ones wearing those badges . . . I'd nearly forgotten I would be playing against my friends. It was a rough spot to be in because I wanted Ron to do well as Keeper considering how lousy he'd been feeling about it, but I couldn't play any less than my best just to improve his self-esteem. It wouldn't've been fair, and it certainly wouldn't've made for a very good victory if I simply let him win.

"All right, it's time," I said. "Good luck, everyone. Let's kick some arse."

We shouldered our brooms and walked in a single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sky. A roar of sound greeted us, no longer muffled from behind the door. The cheering and whistling only increased when the Gryffindor team arrived. I was hoping to catch Ron's attention and maybe give him a thumbs-up or something, but he was staring rather nervously at the ground as though he were about to puke upon it. I did catch the twins' eyes though, and we all smirked at one another. I also spotted Alicia . . . Suddenly, I wanted to puke too.

"Captains shake hands," ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch. Angelina and I reached one another and shook politely. "Mount your brooms . . ."

Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.

The balls were released and we all shot upward, Angelina taking possession of the Quaffle and Lee Jordan's commentary ringing throughout the stadium.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me —"

"JORDAN!" I heard McGonagall yell.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest — and she's ducked Montague, she's — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Greyson Appleby — that little guy really packs a punch! Demetria Harris has the Quaffle now, heading up the pitch — George Weasley sends a Bludger her way —"

I wasn't expecting anyone to go easy on me, especially not George. I noticed Katie gaining on me, most likely preparing herself to catch the Quaffle, but it remained safely tucked under my arm as I clenched my Firebolt tightly with my free hand and wrapped my legs around it. Aggressively and quickly, I forced all of my weight to the right and swung upside down and around, the Bludger flying past me. Increasingly loud cheers erupted.

"— Harris dodges the Bludger with a perfect Sloth-Grip Roll!" Lee exclaimed. "Better luck next time, George . . . Harris turns right-side-up, just barely avoiding contact with Katie Bell of Gryffindor — she reaches the goalposts, shoots and — Harris scores!"

I smiled apologetically to Ron who retrieved the Quaffle and tossed it out to Katie. It was then that I could hear singing coming from the stands . . .

" _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _He cannot block a single ring,_

 _That's why Slytherins all sing,_

 _Weasley is our King._

 _Weasley was born in a bin,_

 _He always lets the Quaffle in,_

 _Weasley will make sure we win,_

 _Weasley is our King._ "

I brushed it off and zoomed after Katie.

"Bell reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet — Spinnet avoids a Bludger from Finn Archer, passes to Johnson — interception by Harris who — DROPS THE QUAFFLE?"

Yes, I'd dropped it on purpose, but I knew what I was doing. I'd given Montague the signal and he knew what to do.

"Spinnet and Johnson both dive to retrieve the Quaffle and — wait a minute — Harris was so fast, it flew straight back and straight to Montague! Incredible!"

I turned around and caught up to Montague, the two of us flying side by side as we made our way intimidatingly toward Ron at the goal posts once again.

"— and it looks like it's just Montague and the Keeper, Ron Weasley — Montague shoots — saved! Nicely done, Ron!"

I was secretly proud of Ron's save.

" — Ron tosses the Quaffle to Johnson who easily avoids another Bludger — she dodges Pucey — it's just her and Slytherin Keeper, Bletchley now — Oh, looks like Harris sneaks in and snatches the Quaffle — she's headed back toward Gryffindor's goal posts again — zigzags in between Bell and Spinnet — ouch — but couldn't avoid that Bludger from Fred Weasley!"

The Bludger just barely hit my shoulder, but it was enough to knock the Quaffle from my grasp. Leaning forward on my broom to increase speed, I dove to retrieve it.

" — and Bell sweeps up with the Quaffle — Oh, but collides with Montague — Montague takes the Quaffle, unphased, but it's a Bludger from George straight to the head that puts Harris in possession of the Quaffle again — Sorry, Ron, I don't think there's any stopping this girl — she's tanking up the pitch, shoots and — twenty-nil to Slytherin!"

 _"Weasley is our King,_

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _He always lets the Quaffle in,_

 _Weasley is our King._ "

I wasn't paying much attention to the singing anymore, however, for I was trying to figure something else out. I knew there was no chance that Draco would catch the Golden Snitch before Harry, so if Slytherin was to walk away victorious, I had to reenact the Quidditch World Cup from last year and score enough goals so that the Snitch wouldn't ensure Gryffindor's win. I only hoped there would be enough time before the Snitch was spotted.

With all the strategizing, I'd nearly dropped the Quaffle when Adrian passed it to me.

"— nearly drops it, but soars up the pitch and — what's this — all three Gryffindor Chasers are closing in on Harris!"

Angelina boxed me in at my left, Katie closed in my right, and Alicia flew directly below me. My only escape seemed to be upward, but I knew there was probably a Bludger with my name on it if I attempted that. I decided to take a chance on something that seemed like it would work in my head . . . I only hoped it wouldn't be as stupid as it seemed . . .

I quickly swerved, the Chasers maintaining their positions around me, and I began to fly in a dizzying circle. And, as I'd been hoping, due to the speed of my Firebolt, it was enough to send all three girls into a whirlwind. The cheers grew deafening.

"What was — How did — THAT WAS BRILLIANT! An incredible, never-before-seen move by Demetria Harris has sent the Gryffindor Chasers into a whirlwind, completely out of the way — Harris is free to shoot — AND SCORE! The crowd is absolutely loving it — and what's that they're chanting?"

I'd been expecting another rousing chorus of _Weasley is our King_ , but that wasn't it. Instead, I heard "HURR-I-CANE HAR-RIS!" followed by five claps and then again, "HURR-I-CANE HAR-RIS!" It repeated.

As the game continued on, the score was 160-10 with us in the lead, and that was when the Golden Snitch had been spotted. If Harry caught it (and I predicted he would), we would tie . . . unless . . .

Nearly everyone began paying more attention to Harry and Draco battling it out for the Snitch, and by the time the Gryffindors realized what I was doing as I hurried up the pitch with the Quaffle, it was too late.

"— back at Gryffindor's goalposts, Harris attempts one final goal! Harry Potter of Gryffindor catches the Snitch, but Harris scores — Slytherin wins!"

I hadn't expected it, but it seemed as though people from all of the Houses were cheering. I figured it had to have been more because of me than Slytherin in general . . . Not to be conceited or anything, but we weren't the most popular House. Everyone began chanting Hurricane Harris once again, and I was just glad that meant _Weasley is our King_ was over and done with . . . at least, that was what I'd thought.

"— but then he was _born in a bin_ . . . Did you like my lyrics, Potter?" I heard Draco say tauntingly to Harry, both of them on the ground.

I landed nearby, everyone from both teams doing the same, although the rest of my teammates were celebrating our victory. I couldn't help but notice Ron dismount his broom rather glumly over by the goalposts and begin walking toward the changing room alone.

"Demetria!" I heard someone call my name, although it didn't sound like it was any of my teammates. In fact, I could've sworn it sounded like someone with a Bulgarian accent. "Sestra!"

Turning, I found the source.

"Viktor!" I exclaimed, rushing over to him and practically leaping into his arms. He picked me up and hugged me tightly. "What're you doing here?!"

He placed me back on the ground and gestured to the older man standing beside him.

"My _agent_ vanted to come see you play," he said, grinning like the proud, big brother I knew he was.

"Kazhi ĭ che e neveroyatno," the man said to Viktor. _**(Tell her she is amazing)**_

"Blagodarya," I told him. _**(Thank you)**_

The man looked to me, even more impressed.

"Demetria, moeto ime e Anton Borisov. Viktor men vsichko e kazal za vashite kuidich sposobnosti i da ne go propusna. Bikh iskal da vi otvede na kato klient predi vsichki drugi oferti idvat naliva v." _**(Demetria, my name is Anton Borisov. Viktor told me all about your Quidditch skills and you did not disappoint. I would like to take you on as a client before all the other offers come pouring in)**_

"Blagodarim Vi za interesa, g-n Borisov, no mislya, che bikh iskal da zavŭrsha uchilishte predi da igraete profesionalno," I told him. _**(Thank you for your interest, Mr. Borisov, but I think I would like to finish school before playing professionally)**_

"Razbiram," said Borisov before handing me a small index card from his robes. "Molya, priemete moyata karta i zapazi me v predvid za v bŭdeshte." _**(I understand. Please accept my card and keep me in mind for the future)**_

I assured him that I would and he left the stadium to give Viktor and I a moment to catch up.

"You couldn't've sent a letter back?!" I said, punching his arm.

"I am sorry, Demi," he said, laughing. "I did not vant to ruin the surprise. I did send you the _Daily Prophet_ though."

"Yeah, I was real comforted by it," I said sarcastically.

"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! _NO_!" I heard Angelina crying out.

I whipped around and saw Harry sinking his fist into Draco's stomach. Girls' voices were screaming, George was swearing, Draco was yelling, a whistle was blowing, and then suddenly, someone yelled " _IMPEDIMENTA!_ "

"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch. Harry was back on his feet and Draco was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was being forcibly restrained by the three Gryffindor Chasers. "I've never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! _Now_!"

I wanted to stop George and see if he was all right, but I knew he probably didn't want to be bothered. Instead, I watched him and Harry march soundlessly off the pitch. I wished Draco was also soundless . . .

"Malfoy, you provoked them, didn't you?" I said to him, irritated. I knew he did, I'd heard the beginning of it.

"Oh, sure, take _their_ side!" he whined.

"Keep it up, I'm sure the dozens of reporters and team managers will love your performance," I said, tone cold.

He immediately straightened up and pressed his sleeve to his bloody nose.

"He is vorse than I remember," Viktor said quietly to me.

"You have no idea," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"Viktor!" came another voice I wasn't particularly happy to hear. In fact, I reckon I would've preferred Draco's whining again.

"Hello, Finn!" Viktor greeted amicably; the two hugged.

"It's great to see you, mate," said Finn pleasantly. "What brings you here?"

Viktor looked to me and was about to say something, but Finn — realizing what his answer was — instantly changed the subject.

"How's everything?"

Rather than stand there and be ignored by Finn, I headed back to the changing room and noticed Snape warding off reporters, agents, and Godric-knows who else. When I got closer, cameras began going off, but Snape stood in the way as I made my way inside. There wasn't anyone else in the room, so I took my time changing out of my uniform. I did, however, leave my gloves on. When I walked back out, the crowd of guests had disappeared, as had Snape.

"Sestra, I have to go," said Viktor, walking up to me.

"What? But we didn't get a chance to talk about —"

"I found you someone to talk to, do not vorry," he assured me. "I haff fixed vun of your problems."

I wasn't sure what he meant until I looked off to the side and saw Finn standing nearby, giving me a small smile.

"How the sodding hell — ?"

"Just doing my job," Viktor insisted, smiling at me. "That is vut big brother's are for, no?"

"I still want a letter from you," I told him.

"Sdelka," he said. _**(Deal)**_

I wrapped my arms around him again and he returned the embrace.

"Obicham te, brato," I said sincerely. "radvam se, che doĭde." _**(I love you, bro. I'm glad you came)**_

"Shte se vidim skoro," he assured me, pulling away. "Obicham te, sestro." _**(I'll see you soon. I love you, sis)**_

He kissed my forehead and then walked off to leave the stadium. That was when Finn came walking over.

"I'm sorry for being an awful frie —"

But before I could even finish the sentence, Finn had wrapped me up in his arms.

"You're not an awful friend," he said whole-heartedly. "I am."

I pulled back and said, "I've been moody and tempermental —"

"And I should've been more understanding of that," Finn pressed. "If I were going through all of that, I'd be acting the same way. I dunno why I blew up at you like that — I guess I was just hurt, I felt like you couldn't tell me anything anymore."

"I just didn't want to —" I stopped myself from saying the words that had caused Finn to explode the first time: _bother you_.

"I know," he said, "but I hope you know that you never do. And all that shite about us pretending to be closer than we really were — that was dumber than Crabbe and Goyle" — I laughed — "I'm really, truly sorry about that."

"No more apologies," I decided. "Let's just move on."

"Even better," said Finn, grinning.

"All right, now that we're friends again, I've got heaps to tell you!"


	14. Chapter 13: The Dumbest Thing

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

 _The Dumbest Thing_

:.:.:

"Banned from Quidditch?!" I said in disbelief.

Finn and I had been walking outside in the snow the next morning when we'd happened upon the twins bewitching snowballs to zoom up to Gryffindor Tower.

"Fred, you didn't even do anything, mate," said Finn, outraged.

"That's not my fault," he said, disgruntled. "I would've if Angelina, Alicia, and Katie hadn't been holding me back."

"I'd say I can't believe Umbridge would do that, but . . ." My tone trailed off menacingly. She'd given the twins and Harry a lifetime ban from Quidditch for standing up to Draco who was being a complete tool.

"It's got to be harder on Harry," said George, sending another snowball to rap hard on the window to the Gryffindor common room. "After all, we'll be out of here soon."

"It's not even Christmas," I said. "You've still got a few months."

The twins exchanged a significant glance.

"Maybe," said Fred airily.

"We'll see," George agreed.

"What're you — ?"

"Oy!" bellowed someone from the window — Ron. "I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window — OUCH!"

Fred sent a snowball right for Ron's face and he immediately withdrew his head from the window. The twins started laughing.

"You're not finishing school?" I inquired, getting back to the subject at hand.

"Not much point to," Fred reasoned. "We already know what we want to do."

"Don't exactly need N.E.W.T.s for it," George added.

"We're just sticking around until we've got a shop."

As someone who did need N.E.W.T.s, I wouldn't've ever even entertained the idea of leaving school before graduating, but I realized that wasn't the path for everyone.

"I wish I didn't have to stick around," said Finn desolately. "This school used to actually be somewhat fun before that toad came along."

"It still _can_ be fun, Finny," Fred said, tossing an arm around Finn's shoulders, "if you play your cards right." He was offering Finn a snowball in his other hand.

"Don't you mean if you play them _wrong_?" I teased.

"Ah, but it feels so right," said George, winking at me.

I dunno what had gotten into him, but he seemed so much more . . . confident. And it seemed Fred was right — I liked confident blokes.

Finn took the snowball and sent it up to the window, although Ron did not appear that time, someone else did though.

" _There_ you are!" said Alicia, popping her head through the window. "I've been looking for you! What're you doing?"

"Bloody tormenting me, that's what they're doing!" I heard Ron shout from inside, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Can you come up here for a moment?" Alicia asked George sweetly.

"Of course," he said. "Be right there, love."

I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as George walked off. He used to call _me_ love . . .

"It's about time," said Fred with, perhaps, the biggest smirk I'd ever seen from him.

"What?" I said defensively, for he was looking at me.

"Oh, are we not admitting it aloud just yet?" he said.

"Admitting what?" Finn inquired when I went silent.

"Demi, just tell him," Fred encouraged without a trace of his usual mischevious grin. "I don't reckon he's too crazy about Alicia."

"He's not just going to break up with her for me," I told him.

"I think he would!" Fred pressed. "He's been pining for you for over a year now — you're the one he really wants."

I looked up at Gryffindor Tower.

"But what if — ?"

"No excuses, Princess!" said Fred dismissively, pushing me along. "Just tell him how you feel!"

Finn seemed to have caught on to what was happening as he followed Fred who was still ushering me forward. We continued like that all the way up to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and every step only make me more nervous. I wasn't sure why though . . . I mean, I knew George liked me . . . but there were so many other things to worry about. What if things didn't work out? What if we broke up and couldn't even be friends anymore? What if I wasn't what he was expecting I'd be? Was I just confused? Was I just longing for some affection? I had no idea . . . all I seemed to know for sure was that I — finally — returned the feelings George had for me.

"Oy, Georgie!" said Fred as the three of us climbed through the portrait hole. "Demetria's got to talk to you."

I found Harry and Ron on the couch, doing homework, and George and Alicia nearby, cuddling on a loveseat.

"Thanks, Fred, I reckon I can take it from here," I said, smirking, but as soon as George got up and began walking over, I turned back to his twin. "Okay, I lied, I can't, you do it for me —"

"What's up, Tri?" asked George, concerned.

Fred spun me back around and I looked up into George's baby blue eyes.

"Er, could we maybe . . . ?"

"Privacy! Sure, of course!" said Fred fervently. "Head on up to our dormitory, I promise we won't eavesdrop . . . a lot."

"George, I'll meet you downstairs for lunch," said Alicia brightly. "It's nearly time."

But George couldn't respond, because Fred was urging both of us up the stairs and into the seventh year boys' dormitory.

"What's with him?" George asked me, exasperated, once we were alone.

"I dunno, he's _your_ brother," I said nervously.

George seemed to do a double take when he looked back at me.

"Tri, what's going on?" he cautiously asked.

I sighed.

"Okay, George, there's something I need to tell you," I started. "Well, actually I don't _need_ to tell you, but Fred said that I should and — I just — I want you to know . . . I like you."

I was no longer looking into his eyes, out of fear that I wouldn't like what I saw. And I thought when he moved closer to me, it was a good sign, but I looked up and saw how disappointed he was . . .

"You're not kidding?" he asked.

I shook my head. It was hopeless, and I should've known better.

"Wow," he said in disbelief. "I-I dunno what to say . . . Demetria, I'm with Alicia —"

"I know, it was stupid of me to tell you," I immediately rushed out. "I dunno why I listened to Fred."

"Well, I mean . . ." he had no idea what to say. I felt so incredibly stupid. I dunno what I was expecting to happen — Wait, that's not true. I expected him to break up with his girlfriend for me. How fucked up is that?!

"I'm sorry, I'll go," I said, turning to leave before I did something even more stupid, like cry. "See you around, George."

If he tried to stop me, I was already gone before he could. I rushed down the stairs and right out of the common room. Finn dashed after me and Fred called out to me, but I didn't even turn back.

:.:.:

"What was that?!" Fred demanded from his twin as soon as he came down the stairs.

"Demetria just told me she likes me," George informed him, still in shock.

"I know!" he shouted fervently. "I told her to tell you so that you two could finally stop dancing around each other and —" Fred broke off, turning to the couch and seeing Ron and Harry both eyeing him with great interest. "Can I help you two?"

Ron and Harry sunk back onto the couch, but Hermione quickly appeared in the portrait hole, shivering slightly, her robes damp to the knees.

"What's going on?" she carefully inquired.

"Demetria told George she likes him and he turned her down," Ron quickly explained.

"What?!" said Hermione, shocked.

"It wasn't like that!" George defended.

"Then what, pray-tell, was it like?!" demanded Fred. "Because it sounds like you just turned down the very girl you've been after for a solid year now!"

"I'm with Alicia!" George reminded. "You're the one who told me to go for her!"

Fred was about to answer, but caught sight of the Golden Trio. He gestured for his twin to follow him up to their dormitory.

"Aw, c'mon! We want to know!" Ron shouted up to them.

"I wanted you to take a chance on Alicia so that Demetria would realize she had feelings for you," Fred explained.

"You wanted me to use Alicia to make Demetria jealous?" his twin asked him in shock.

"Is that what I said?" Fred asked irritably. "I thought it could work out for a while — you'd try to move on with Alicia, Demetria would realize she's got it bad for you, you'd let Alicia down _gently_ —"

"I'm not going to break up with her just because Demetria's told me she likes me," said George seriously.

"But you still have feelings for her!" Fred argued. "It wouldn't be right to stay with Alicia while you still like Demetria."

It looked as though he backed his brother into a corner, because George was silent for a moment, considering what Fred just said. But he quickly dismissed it.

"That doesn't matter," he insisted, more so to himself. "What matters is I like Alicia and that's who I'm with."

"What is this, you waited for Demetria so now you want her to wait for _you_ , is that it?"

"No, I just . . ." George lowered his voice and suddenly sounded very vulnerable. ". . . now it's real. I wanted it for so long and now it's right there . . . and I can have it — but what if I screw it up?"

"Georgie, you're not going to take a chance on her because you're scared you might make a mistake?" asked his twin. "That's barmy! Of course you'll make mistakes — she will too! I know she's royalty, but she's not perfect —"

"If something went wrong and we broke up and weren't even friends anymore . . ." George continued, still speaking gravely, ". . . I'd never forgive myself. I'd rather have her in my life just as a friend than not at all."

Fred understood. He wasn't happy about it though because, of course, he'd rather see his brother happy with the girl he liked (or — let's face it — _loved_ ), but he did understand his logic.

"You've really got it bad for this bird," Fred said in jest, trying to lighten the mood.

George chuckled a bit.

"I'm afraid I do," he admitted.

:.:.:

"That was the dumbest thing I could've ever possibly done," I said to Finn for the umpteenth time. It was the next day but I was _still_ talking about it, but Finn promised to tell me if it started to bother him.

"Note to self: never listen to Fred Weasley," Finn teased.

We were struggling to get through the snow as we moved toward the forest for Care of Magical Creatures. I was a bit surprised, however, to see someone taking the place of Professor Grubbly-Plank, though it was someone I recognized just as much — Hagrid.

"I didn't know he was back," I said, more so to myself.

"Whoa, Sparks!" said Finn urgently, reaching for my hands.

I'd been trying to slip on my gloves when the sight of the half-giant distracted me.

"Looks like your boyfriend's moved on, Greengrass," Pansy jeered as she passed Finn and I; Millicent joined the chortling.

I turned and saw Daphne walking with Tracey, though she appeared to be unphased by Pansy's comment.

"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on with Daphne?" I inquired, putting my gloves on.

"Nothing's going on," Finn insisted.

"I know, but you obviously _want_ something to be going on," I said, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

Finn playfully hit my arm.

"It doesn't matter," he said desolately. "She's not interested."

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid called happily, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark. . ."

"What prefers the dark?" I heard Draco say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark — did you hear?"

"Scared, Malfoy?" I couldn't help but tease.

"Certainly not," he said with fake bravado, puffing out his chest.

I rolled my eyes.

"Ready?" said Hagrid brightly, looking around at the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em —"

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" said Draco, the panic in his voice even more pronounced now. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

The other Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Draco had a fair point too. I wondered what Hagrid had been teaching before . . .

"'Course they're trained," said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting what appeared to be a dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

"So what happened to your face, then?" demanded Draco.

It was true Hagrid was sporting quite a few nastily discolored bruises and such, but I knew that was probably because of whatever he'd been doing for the Order.

"Mind yer own business!" said Hagrid angrily. "Now if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

He turned and strode straight into the forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow, except Finn, the Golden Trio, and myself.

We all walked for about ten minutes until reaching a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow on the ground at all. Hagrid deposited his half a cow with a grunt on the ground, stepped back, and turned to face us again. Most of the class were creeping toward him from tree to tree, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment. I started thinking that perhaps it was foolish of Finn and I to not be acting as cautiously, especially since we had no idea what happened to make everyone else so afraid.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," said Hagrid encouragingly. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me . . ."

He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face, and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird, or perhaps Pansy's laughter.

Once more, Hagrid gave the shrieking cry. A minute passed in which the class continued to peer nervously over their shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it was that was coming. Finn and I stood right out in the open, near Hagrid, looking for some sign of life. And then, as Hagrid shook his hair back for a third time and expanded his enormous chest, I saw it in the black space between two gnarled yew trees.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck, and then skeletal body of the great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness — a thestral. It looked around at the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.

"He isn't going to call again?" Finn whispered to me.

I forgot not everyone could see these creatures . . . I wouldn't consider myself lucky to've been able to. I noticed most of the rest of the class were still wearing confused and nervous expressions, gazing everywhere. There only seemed to be three other people who were able to see the thestral: Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, and of course, Harry.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" said Hagrid proudly, as a second thestral appeared out of the dark trees, folded its leathery wings closer to its body, and dipped its head to gorge on the meat. "Now . . . put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

I put my hand up, and when Finn looked to me with confusion, I asked him, "Remember what was pulling the carriages?" He nodded to me in understanding.

"Yeah . . . yeah, I knew you two'd be able ter, Harry, Demetria," Hagrid said seriously. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An' —"

"Excuse me," said Draco in a sneering voice, "but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

For answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. Everyone stared at it for a few seconds, then several people gasped and Parvati squealed. I wasn't sure why until I realized bits of flesh stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air had to look very odd indeed.

"What's doing it?" Parvati demanded in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," I said at the same time as Hagrid. He looked to me proudly and said, "Nicely done, Demetria. Ten points ter Slytherin, eh? Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows — ?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" interrupted Parvati, looking alarmed. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once —"

"No, no, no," said Hagrid chuckling, "tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! 'Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate — an' here's another couple, look —"

Sure enough, two more horses came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree, saying, "I think I felt something, I think it's near me!"

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," said Hagrid patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see them an' some can't?"

I was going to raise my hand, but when I saw Hermione's hand in the air, I didn't bother. I didn't really want to have to be the one to tell the rest of the class anyway.

"Go on then," Hagrid said to Hermione.

"The only people who can see thestrals," she said, "are people who have seen death."

"That's exactly right," said Hagrid solemnly, "ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals —"

" _Hem, hem._ "

I swore under my breath. Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was standing a few feet away, wearing her green hat and cloak, her clipboard at the ready. Hagrid, who had never heard Umbridge's fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.

" _Hem, hem._ "

"Oh, hello!" Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" said Umbridge in a loud, slow voice, as though she was addressing somebody both foreign and very slow. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh yeah," said Hagrid brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see — or, I dunno — can you? We're doin' thestrals today —"

"I'm sorry?" said Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. "What did you say?"

Hagrid looked a little confused.

"Er — _thestrals_!" he said loudly. "Big — er — winged horses, yeh know!"

He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard, " _has . . . to . . . resort . . . to . . . crude . . . sign . . . language . . ._ "

"Well . . . anyway . . ." said Hagrid, turning back to us and looking slightly flustered. "Erm . . . what was I sayin'?"

" _Appears . . . to . . . have . . . poor . . . short . . . term . . . memory . . ._ " muttered Umbridge, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Draco looked as though Christmas had come a month early; I was starting to have trouble controlling my Light under my gloves, because I knew Umbridge was doing this on purpose to throw off Hagrid.

"Oh yeah," said Hagrid, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard, but plowing on valiantly. "Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he patted the first horse to have appeared, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favorite, firs' one born here in the forest —"

"Are you aware," Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified thestrals as 'dangerous'?"

I looked down and noticed my gloved-hands were radiating a white glow around them. If it weren't for Snape, there surely would've been Light flying off in someone's direction right about now — with any luck, Umbridge's once again.

"Thestrals aren' dangerous!" Hagrid assured her with a chuckle. "All righ', they might take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them —"

" _Shows . . . signs . . . of . . . pleasure . . . at . . . idea . . . of . . . violence . . ._ " muttered Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard again.

" _Doesn't . . . understand . . . humor . . ._ " I couldn't help but mock in a low voice. But if Umbridge heard me, she didn't comment, probably because Hagrid started speaking before she could.

"No — come on!" he said, looking a bit anxious now. "I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it — but thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing — people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?"

Thestrals, Augureys, and me: misunderstood.

"Please continue teaching as usual," said Umbridge loudly and slowly. "I am going to walk" — she mimed walking, Draco and Pansy having a silent fit of laughter — "among the students" — she pointed around at individual members of the class — "and ask them questions." She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.

With each miming motion she made, more people's thoughts began creeping into my head.

"Please take a swim" — I mimed swimming — "in the Black Lake" — I pointed in the general direction of the lake — "and drown yourself." I swiped my hand across my neck to indicate death.

"Miss Harris," said Umbridge with false sweetness.

My eyes practically rolled all the way back into my head.

"Professor Umbridge," I returned, mustering up as much politeness as I could. I'd also crossed my arms to keep my hands hidden, as they were now glowing even more intensely. My head was growing incredibly heavy, as it began filling with more and more thoughts from the surrounding students.

"Perhaps you would care for another round of detentio — Oh my!"

And then, for the first time, I was actually happy when I realized my nose had started to bleed.

Head pounding, vision blurring, I quickly turned to Hagrid. "Professor, I need the hospital wing!"

"Oh, er, right — Dumbledore mentioned — Yeah, go ahea', Demetria," said Hagrid.

"I'll take her, Professor!" I heard Finn say as I began stumbling, trying to make my way out of the forest. He was instantly at my side.

 _"Poor Demetria_ — _"_

 _"_ — _lucky, she gets to leave —"_

 _"Umbridge is awful —"_

 _"I like Hagrid's lessons —"_

 _"— hope she doesn't talk to me."_

 _"That evil hag —"_

 _"— tell her I got attacked during a lesson_ — _"_

 _"Maybe Finn really is dating Demetria —"_

 _"— saw my grandad die —"_

 _"It's so cold —"_

I'd hardly been able to pay attention to where I was walking, luckily Finn was doing most of the work in guiding me. But when we reached the hospital wing, I was already starting to feel better. I could still hear the distant thoughts of students in nearby classrooms, but they weren't nearly as prominent.

"Hello, again, Demetria," Madam Pomfrey greeted me warmly.

"Just the usual, Poppy," I told her, grinning, despite the situation.

That's right, I was in the hospital wing so often, that Madam Pomfrey and I were on a first-name basis.

"Your bed is open, dear," she informed me — or rather, Finn.

"Finn," I said when he brought me to my usual bed and I laid down, "Daphne thinks we're dating — that's why she doesn't seem interested."

"How d'you — ?"

"Mind reader," I reminded him, pressing my fingers to my temples in jest.

"Right," he laughed. "Are you reading my mind right now?"

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the many voices in my head, and see if I could find Finn's. After a moment, I recognized his voice repeating something: "It's never going to happen."

"Why not?" I whined. My eyes remained closed; my head was pounding.

"Wow, this could be incredibly useful," said Finn, impressed, "y'know, once you're able to control it and not get a nosebleed."

"Finn," I said seriously, actually opening my eyes and looking into his sea-green irises.

"Honestly, I dunno," he sadly admitted. "You'd have to ask her."

"Mr. Archer, you should be getting back to class," said Poppy.

"Right, see you later, Dem," he said to me. "I'll let you know what you missed in Herbology." And then he left.

I wasn't sure why I'd always thought it was Finn who wasn't interested in getting back together with Daphne . . . but to hear the roles were reversed, it sort of surprised me. It made me think that perhaps it was also Daphne's idea to remain unofficial the previous year. I certainly planned on asking her about it. I mean, it wasn't really my business but Finn was my best mate and . . . Daphne and I were sort of close . . . Bugger off, I just wanted to know.

–

I didn't even remember falling asleep, but I found myself waking up from another terrible nightmare about Cedric. It'd been a while since I'd had one, but it still hurt just as badly. I didn't want to go back to sleep after that, but my head was still pounding and I could surprisingly still hear the faint voices of peoples' thoughts in my head.

–

Apparently, I'd dozed off once again, but I was also woken up by the very same kind of nightmare. This time, I tried my hardest to stay awake.

–

My attempts proved useless as I woke up once again, heart practically leaping from my chest. I had no idea what time it was, but the hospital wing was dark and moonlight was spilling in through the windows. I really didn't want to sleep there for the night, so I got up, grabbed my schoolbag, and left. My head was feeling better and appeared free of any thoughts but my own. I sort of wished I couldn't hear my own thoughts, though . . . I almost preferred everyone else's sometimes. I couldn't seem to think about anything other than Cedric, but when I finally laid that to rest, the thought of George sprung up.

I walked past the Great Hall and noticed it was full, everyone enjoying dinner. I considered joining them, but my nerves and emotions were still so wound up, I knew I would lose it as soon as I was around everyone. My gloved-hands immediately began glowing as I wished I could enter the Hall, walk right up to one of the House tables, find my boyfriend, and just hug him . . . have him hold me . . . That was what I wanted. I didn't know if I wished it was Cedric at the Hufflepuff table or George at the Gryffindor table . . . but I knew I wanted someone. Then I thought: _What about Adrian at the Slytherin table?_ And that was it — I decided something — and it may have been even dumber than me telling George I liked him . . . but I did it.

"Hey, Adrian," I said as I approached the Slytherin table.

"Hey, Dem," he greeted brightly. "I guess you're feeling better?"

"Yeah, could I talk to you for a second?"

He didn't even hesitate in getting up from the bench and following me out of the Great Hall. I didn't stop walking though, and he kept up.

"Where're we going?" he asked.

I was silent for a moment before saying, "Adrian . . . I dunno how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot . . . but basically, I — I feel something for you — I mean, I think I like you but . . . I dunno, you're one of the only people I can talk to and — I just want —"

I broke off and couldn't even look at him anymore. I kept my gaze down sheepishly as we continued walking. Neither one of us spoke again until he realized where we were — we stood outside of the Room of Requirement.

"I understand if you don't want — I mean, tonight would just be about _tonight_ , y'know, and I don't want to hurt you —"

"All right," he said eagerly.

"R-Really?" I said, taken aback. "But . . . you like me . . ."

"I'm a big boy, Harris, I can take care of myself," he insisted with a smirk. But then he grew rather serious, his smirk softening, his eyes spilling out kindess. "I can . . . take care of you."

I went to open the door, but stopped to tell him, "I want you to know — I never do this . . . and I wouldn't be doing it with just anyone."

Adrian continued to gaze at me through his kind, blue eyes before leaning in closer to me. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that," he said, pulling away, though keeping his face close to mine.

"Actually I do," I said, smirking.

He laughed.

"Fair enough," he said, "but I'm glad I waited — I don't reckon it would've been that good if it happened when I was twelve."

"Well, you kiss like you're still twelve," I teased.

Adrian raised his eyebrows at me and smirked.

"You're going to regret saying that," he said in a low growl before fiercely pressing his lips to mine and opening the door.


	15. Chapter 14: Father of the Redhead

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

 _Father of the Redhead_

:.:.:

 _I'm walking down a white and gray stone path, and a rather narrow one, lined on either side with white buildings. I can hear some distant voices humming the same haunting sea shanty from my last dream. It's dark, the only sources of light coming from either the moon or some candles in the building windows that immediately catch fire as I walked past them. No one else is around . . . until I happen upon a fork in the road. When I look to the left, I see a rather large group of people, all with glowing, golden irises, singing:_

 _"His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black as as sloes,_

 _May happiness attend him wherever he goes,_

 _From Tower Hill, down to Blackwall, I will wander, weep, and moan,_

 _All for the jolly sailor bold, until he does return."_

 _To the right, there is another crowd of people, but they all look to me with their irises black, matching the hooded-cloaks they wear. I know they are Death Eaters, and they are reaching their hands out toward me. I still hear the others singing._

 _"My sailor is as smiling as the pleasant month of May,_

 _And oft we have wandered through Ratcliffe Highway,_

 _Where many a pretty blooming girl we happy did behold,_

 _Reclining on the bosom of her jolly sailor bold."_

 _Grandad steps out from the crowd of Death Eaters, the only one without arms outstretched. He points to the other side, and softly says, "Never for you." So I turn and begin walking, choosing the left path and singing with the golden-eyed people._

 _"My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair,_

 _And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year,_

 _My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,_

 _There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold."_

–

I woke up the same way I had the last time — humming the tune. But the moment I realized that's what I was doing, I stopped. I'd forgotten where I was for a second, as the Room of Requirement looked much more like someone's bedroom than the place the D.A. used to practice Defense. I also found my head rested on Adrian's bare chest, the two of us tangled up in bed.

"Hey, you're up," came his soft voice.

"You could've woken me," I said groggily.

"I only just woke up," he told me. "I heard you humming something."

"Oh, sorry," I said, rolling onto my back. "I was having a dream."

At once, my hands reached around my neck for my locket . . . but didn't find it. I began to panic as I continued to feel for the cool silver, but was coming up empty-handed.

"Everything okay?" he asked me.

As I was patting the area around me, I finally made contact with the oval-shaped locket, breathing a sigh of relief as I rolled away from Adrian and grabbed it.

"Yeah, I couldn't find my locket," I said, alleviated.

"Thank Merlin," said Adrian with a tone of relief as well. "I thought you were already regretting — What're those, tattoos?"

I was sitting up with my feet dangling off my side of the bed, clasping the locket around my neck when Adrian said that.

"What're you on about?" I asked, sort of laughing.

"On your back," he said airily. I suddenly felt his fingertips tracing something on my back when he asked, "What do they mean?"

I wished I could've seen what he was talking about . . . but right when I thought that, a mirror appeared in front of me when I'd looked up from my locket. I, then, proceeded to turn my back to it and craned my neck to catch a glimpse of it. Sure enough, four tan-colored circles were marked down my spine, each with a slightly different pattern in their center.

"I-I didn't know I had those," I said dumbly, staring at them as I tried to scratch at them and see if they would come off — they wouldn't — but after I'd claw at them, there was a glow around them for a split second — a golden glow.

"Son of a bitch . . ." I breathed.

"Lumen tattoos?" asked Adrian, who sounded as though he was in just about as much shock as I was.

"Yeah, I —" I'd finally turned to look at him and couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping me.

"What?" he inquired, relaxing as well.

"Your hair," I told him, smiling.

He looked around me, into the mirror and laughed too. I'd never seen Adrian's hair in such disarray, as he always had it cleanly parted on the side. But his bed head made Harry's naturally unkempt mane look rather tame.

"So you're . . . not regretting this, then?" Adrian cautiously asked.

I thought about it for a moment. I wasn't entirely sure how I was feeling . . . I was sort of upset with myself to admit that I was actually feeling better, but then I also felt bad that I wasn't feeling guilty . . . although I supposed it wouldn't've made sense to feel guilty. Yes, I loved Cedric, but he was gone, and he wanted me to move on, so I hadn't done anything wrong . . . right?

"I'm not regretting this," I told Adrian definitely.

"Good," he said, beaming. "Still think I kiss like I'm twelve?"

I smirked.

"Eh, maybe thirteen."

–

Naturally, when I told Finn about what happened, he didn't take any of it seriously.

"I dunno which thing to scold you for first," he had teased. "Getting tattoos or shagging Adr — OW!"

I had elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Keep your voice down," I'd whispered fiercely. "D'you want me to become the school slag?"

"Seems you're doing a fairly good job of that all on your own," he'd said with a wink.

I went to slap him in the arm, but he caught my hand, insisting he was only joking. He then told me to tell Dumbledore about my "new tattoos," but I didn't think it was necessary. After all, there probably wasn't much to do about them. I simply took it as a normal sign of being a Lumen. I just hoped I wouldn't get any more, and certainly not in a more exposed area.

For the remainder of November and straight on into December, not much changed, except I'd finally caught back up on schoolwork. I was, however, also still having to excuse myself from classes every now and again due to the usual nosebleed and mind-reading, but the gloves were keeping my Light at bay. Everything with Adrian continued as normal and Finn and I were certainly back to our usual selves.

Although, I suppose there _was_ another change — I hadn't spoken to the twins since I'd confessed my feelings to George. They both tried to talk to me, but I always made up an excuse to leave unless it was just Fred, or Fred and Lee, of course, but never George — he was usually with Alicia, anyway. Fred invited me to the Burrow for Christmas, and as much as I would've loved to accept right away, I told him I'd have to think about it. There would, after all, be no way to avoid George there.

Finn also told me I was more than welcome to visit his home during the holiday, and Remus said he'd mostly be working for the Order, but that Sirius would love to have me stay at 12 Grimmauld Place. So as much as I wanted to visit the Burrow, I had options if I didn't.

With Christmas nearly upon us, everyone was gathered in the Room of Requirement for the last D.A. meeting before the holidays.

"Okay," said Harry, calling everyone to order. "I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far, because it's the last meeting before the holidays and there's no point starting anything new right before a three-week break —"

"We're not doing anything new?" said Zacharias, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come . . ."

"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," said Fred loudly.

I snickered along with several other people.

"We can practice in pairs," said Harry. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again."

Everyone divided into their usual pairs, except for Harry and I who let our partners practice with one another so we could survey the others. So Adrian paired with Neville Longbottom, the two joining the others in practicing the Impediment Jinx.

The room was full of intermittent cries of " _Impedimenta!_ " People froze for a minute or so, during which their partners would stare aimlessly around the room watching other pairs at work, then would unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx. That continued for ten minutes, as Harry had said, and then everyone switched to Stunning. Both of these spells were rather easy for me, so I was glad to have a break from them. I much preferred observing everyone as Harry did.

"Demetria," he said to me as we watched Neville Stun Padma Patil rather than Dean, at whom he had been aiming, "can you produce a Patronus?"

"So close, Neville, give it another go!" I encouraged before replying to Harry. "I've actually never tried."

"I'm sure you could," he assured me, "I could show you how over the break if you're coming to the Burrow."

And though I'd appreciated Harry keeping me ahead of the curve, I still wasn't sure if I'd be visiting the Weasley home. "Thanks, but I think I'm staying with Remus at headquarters."

"That's just as well," said Harry brightly. "Lupin's the one who taught _me_. You should have him show you if he's got time."

"Yeah, I reckon I will," I told him.

At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.

"You're getting really good," he said, beaming around the room. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff — maybe even Patronuses."

There was a murmur of excitement as everyone began readying themselves to leave in their usual twos and threes. When it was time for Adrian, Finn, and I to leave, we all wished Harry a Happy Christmas and headed for our common room. We arrived before Daphne and Tracey, although not by much, and I seized the opportunity to finally speak with the bird Finn so obviously wanted back.

"What's up, Demetria?" she asked pleasantly, both of us dropping into two of the green chairs around the crackling fireplace.

"Look, Finn'll kill me if he finds out I'm telling you this," I began, "but you should know: we're not dating — never have, never will — and he still really fancies you."

"Oh," she said, caught off guard. "Er, well alright — I don't really know what to say — I'm not looking for a serious commitment right now."

"It doesn't have to be _serious_ —"

"I already talked to Finn about this last year," she explained, "I just feel like there's all sorts of pressure on things once you label it, y'know?"

"I s'pose," I offered, "but there really doesn't have to be. It would be exactly like what you two had last year, except you'd tell people he was your boyfriend."

"I dunno," said Daphne, and I could tell there was something she wasn't telling me. "I just — I don't even really think of him that way anymore. He's a good bloke, but I know he wants a real relationship and . . . I just can't do that right now."

"Okay, I understand," I told her.

I wasn't going to pry; Daphne and I weren't that close. I assumed it had something to do with her being hurt in the past, and I would just leave it at that.

"Sorry if this was —"

"Oh no," she assured me quickly. "Finn's your best mate — you just wanted to help him out. I'm just sorry it didn't work out."

"No need to apologize," I said sincerely. "I'll see you."

"You're not coming up?" she asked, rising from the chair.

"In a minute," I told her.

Daphne made her way to our dormitory as I remained in the chair a while longer, staring at my locket. I tried fiddling with the latch, practically prying at it, but nothing would open it. Then, I was glad no one else was around, because I'd lifted the locket closer to my mouth and whispered, "Open." Nothing happened.

I was determined to open that locket. I was tired of waking up every morning and worrying that it would disappear. I wasn't even sure how much more time had passed, but I was still trying different spells, words, and physical force to open the bleeding thing, all to no avail. At some point in the night, I hadn't decided if I'd given up or simply taken a break, but I let my mind wander. I thought of Grandad, and how I wished I could've been spending Christmas with him and our house-elf Tinker, at home.

Home. Could I even call Harris Manor my home anymore? Was it now Lupin's shack? Or perhaps 12 Grimmauld Place? Did I even really have a home? Durmstrang used to feel like home, now it was as distant to me as Harris Manor. Hogwarts didn't quite feel like home to me . . . Perhaps 'home' wasn't exactly a place, but more of a group of people you could surround yourself with and feel happy and safe.

I began thinking of people around Hogwarts I considered my friends, who made me feel at home . . . When I thought of Adrian, however, I quickly forced myself to think of anyone else. I still hadn't quite tackled how I was feeling about . . . that night. I'd felt better at the time, yes, but as of lately, I'd been thinking perhaps it was an insult to Cedric to do _that_ so quickly . . .

I distracted myself immediately, not wanting to cry again, by going to work on the locket again. That, however, only made me frustrated, so much so that I needed to slip on my gloves before I sent a blast of Light into Grandad's face in the fireplace . . . Wait a second — Grandad's face in the fireplace?!

"Vnuchka?" _**(Granddaughter?)**_

I swore rather loudly in Bulgarian, jumping from the chair as my heart leapt from my chest. Pinching myself to ensure I wasn't dreaming, I moved closer to the fire, Grandad's face dancing in the flames just as I'd seen Sirius's do.

His face wasn't as I remembered, however. Granted, I knew he was old, but he looked even older. He appeared worn and tired as I'd seen happen to Remus. Grandad was too old to be in such a stressful and terrible business, and I knew Voldemort wasn't going easy on him.

"Grandad," I said, about ready to cry, "this is dangerous — how're you — why did you — ?"

"Az nyamam mnogo vreme," he told me urgently. _**(I do not have much time)**_ "Znam, che tova e opasno, no nyamakh drug nachin da vi kazha." _**(I know it's dangerous but I had no other way to tell you)**_

 __I knew right then and there, this was a one-time thing, not whenever it was safe like with Sirius.

"Kakvo stava?" I asked, matching his urgency. _**(What's going on?)**_

I also understood the importance of speaking Bulgarian, as anyone could've been listening in on him. This also meant he could not use names, as it would've been a dead giveaway, so the next part required some decoding . . . though not much.

"Kazhete si direktor," he began, "zmiyata shte atakuva bashtata na chervenokosa v . . ." he paused and lowered his voice before saying, "departament misterii." _**(Tell your headmaster the snake will attack the father of the redhead in the Department of Mysteries)**_

 __It only took me a second: the father of the redhead — Arthur Weasley. The snake . . . a Slytherin?

" _Khis_ zmiya," Grandad added quickly. _**(His snake)**_

Nagini.

I got to my feet and knew there was no time to waste, but I wished I could've stayed and spoken with Grandad.

"Nadyavam se da vi vidya otnovo," I said, not able to look away from Grandad's eyes, the life practically visibly drained from them. "Obicham te." _**(I hope to see you again. I love you)**_

 __"Podobno, i az te obicham," he told me sincerely. _ **(Likewise, I love you too)**_

 __And then he was gone, and I was off. I sprinted out of the common room and out of the dungeons, making my way toward Dumbledore's office. All the while, I couldn't help feeling a sense of deja vu. Just a few months ago, I'd been bounding through the castle trying to reach the maze and — _No, don't go there, Demetria_ , I warned myself. I couldn't recall that memory right now.

When I came to the gargoyle, I gave the same password as last time and it allowed me to pass. I didn't even knock when I came to the door at the top of the spiral staircase, simply barged right in, and found the headmaster clad in a magnificently embroidered purple-and-gold dressing gown over a snowy-white nightshirt, reading a book at his desk.

"Demetria," he said, startled, dropping his book, "what in heaven's name — ?"

"Sir, Arthur Weasley's going to be attacked," I said pressingly. "Voldemort's sent Nagini to attack him in the Department of Mysteries."

And though I'd expected Dumbledore to hide his surprise, as he often did, tonight seemed a rare exception. His eyes widened in alarm as he stood up from his desk and walked over to me.

"Demetria, are you sure of this?" he asked gravely, light blue eyes fixed intently upon me.

"As sure as I was that Barty Crouch Jr. was posing as Moody," I told him, hoping that would be enough. It was.

Dumbledore instantly moved back to his desk and began speaking to the numerous portraits which decorated his walls.

"Everard?" he said sharply. "And you too, Dilys!"

A sallow-faced wizard with short, black bangs and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.

"You were listening?" said Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded, the witch said, "Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," said Dumbledore. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people —"

Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, but instead of emerging in neighboring pictures (as usually happened), neither reappeared; one frame now contained nothing but a backdrop of dark curtain, the other a handsome leather armchair. I noticed that many of the other witches and wizards on the walls, though snoring and drooling most convincingly, kept sneaking peeks at me under their eyelids.

"Demetria," Dumbledore began, much more calmly, "how did you receive this information?"

"My grandfather," I explained. "He appeared in the fireplace in my common room."

He nodded, stroking the golden-plumed head of his phoenix, Fawkes. "We will need a warning," he said to it quietly.

There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.

"Demetria," he continued, eyes back on me, "you are certain we can trust your grandfather? He is not feeding you this information on Voldemort's orders?"

That thought had never even crossed my mind, but even now that it had, I didn't believe it for a second.

"I trust him, sir," I said confidently.

Dumbledore only nodded in response once again before saying, "I believe I already know the answer to this, but would it, perhaps, be possible for your grandfather to act as a spy for — ?"

"I'm afraid not," I said ruefully. "I reckon there were other Death Eaters listening in on him tonight — we had to speak in Bulgarian. If he were caught speaking to me after what happened in the graveyard, he would be killed."

"That is, unfortunately, the answer I was expecting," said Dumbledore sorrowfully. "Please sit down."

I dropped into the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, another feeling of familiarity washing over me. It felt like the night of the third task when Harry and I had been called into this office to relay the events that took place.

"Are you sure they'll find him in time?" I asked, my tone urgent again.

But before Dumbledore could answer, there came three raps on the door from the griffin knocker, and I turned to see McGonagall, Harry, and Ron stepping through the threshold.

"Oh," said Dumbledore, "it's you, Professor McGonagall . . . and . . . _ah_."

"Demetria?" said Harry, catching sight of me. He looked positively ill.

"Dumbledore!"

I turned back around and saw the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting slightly.

"What news?" said Dumbledore at once.

"I yelled until someone came running," said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, "said I'd heard something moving downstairs — they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check — you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. The wounds appear external, I'd say we got there just in time."

"Good," said Dumbledore, "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then —"

And moments later, the silver-ringletted witch had reappeared in her picture too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore . . . They carried him past under my portrait . . . he's rather bloody, but I heard something about the injuries being highly treatable."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore. He looked to McGonagall.

"Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children."

"Potter was right, then?" she said, and I assumed she was speaking to herself.

"Right about what?" Dumbledore inquired.

"He had a . . . well, a nightmare . . ."

"It wasn't a nightmare," said Harry quickly. "I . . . well, I _was_ asleep . . . But it wasn't an ordinary dream . . . it was real . . . I saw it happen . . ."

"You saw Mr. Weasley attacked by the snake?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

"Y-Yeah," said Harry, "but how did you — ?"

"Demetria received word from her grandfather about the attack," he replied. "Minerva . . . ?"

"What about Molly?" said McGonagall.

"That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," said Dumbledore. "But she may already know . . . that excellent clock of hers . . ."

I did not understand how a clock could be of use in a situation such as this, but I didn't dwell on it. McGonagall left at once and Dumbledore invited Harry and Ron to sit as well, raising his wand to summon two more chairs next to mine.

"Harry," said Dumbledore quietly, "how did you see this?"

"Well . . . I don't know," said Harry rather angrily. "Inside my head, I suppose —"

"You misunderstand me," said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. "I mean . . . can you remember — er — where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"

Harry paused for a minute before saying, "I was the snake. I saw it all from the snake's point of view . . ."

No one spoke after this. Dumbledore began fiddling with one of the silver instruments around his office, whose function I supposed I would never know. But I wasn't too interested in finding out, as I was finding it much more difficult to simply stay awake. I found myself sinking deeper into the chair, until I caught sight of the locket hanging around my neck and knew that sleep wasn't an option.

When I looked back to Dumbledore, he had placed a blackened old kettle upon his desk. He then raised his wand and murmured " _Portus_ "; for a moment the kettle trembled, glowing with an odd blue light, then it quivered to a rest, as solidly black as ever.

Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing Slytherin colors of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore's voice when he attempted to rouse him.

"Phineas. _Phineas._ "

And now the subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever-looking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name too.

"Phineas! _Phineas!_ PHINEAS!"

He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide.

"Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas," said Dumbledore. "I've got another message."

"Visit my other portrait?" said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn. "Oh no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight . . ."

 _I_ was too tired tonight . . . My eyelids were growing heavier . . . I wasn't sure why I was suddenly so tired— perhaps because the sleep I'd been getting lately was absolute rubbish. I could feel myself zoning in and out of consciousness, hardly able to focus when all of the portraits began speaking at once again.

"Oh, very _well_ ," I heard Phineas say, though my eyes were shut, "though he may very well have destroyed my portrait by now, he's done most of the family —"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," said Dumbledore. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been sent to St. Mungo's for highly treatable injuries and that his wife, children, Demetria Harris, and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Arthur Weasley, highly treatable injuries, wife, children, Demetria Harris, Harry Potter coming to stay," recited Phineas listlessly. "Yes, yes . . . very well . . ."

I heard the door open again, but even that couldn't force my eyes open. I kept having visions of some sort — flashbacks to the dream I had a few weeks ago. I could see the golden-eyed people and the black-eyed Death Eaters, I could hear the song.

"What's going on?" I heard Ginny ask, the panic clear in her voice. "Professor McGonagall says Dad's been hurt —"

 _"Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be . . ."_

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore.

 _"Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea . . ."_

"Thanks to Demetria, who received a tip from her grandfather, his conditions are not at all life-threatening . . ."

" _While up aloft, in storm or gale, from me his absence mourn . . ."_

"He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries . . ."

 _"And firmly pray, arrive the day, he home will safe return . . ."_

"I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

I'd been quietly humming, but no one was paying attention to me. Dumbledore was talking about using a Portkey.

 _"My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair, and I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year . . ."_

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore. "She must know you are out of your beds . . ."

" _My heart is pierced by Cupid,_ " I began quietly singing. " _I disdain all glittering gold; there is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold._ "

Suddenly, from around my neck, I heard a small _click_ and felt the clasp of the locket pop open.

I was wide awake.


	16. Chapter 15: My Jolly Sailor Bold

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

 _My Jolly Sailor Bold_

:.:.:

"Come here, then," said Dumbledore to, presumably, Harry, the Weasleys, and myself. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us . . ."

But all I could focus on was the locket. I quickly unclasped it from around my neck and opened it completely. It was a compass with only one arrow, glowing golden and wiggling, pointing to the door of Dumbledore's office.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" asked Dumbledore. "Where is Demetria? _Demetria_?"

But I'd taken off, sprinting — yet again — through the castle. I was still incredibly tired, so I wasn't moving as quickly as before, and both my head and eyelids were growing heavier, but I didn't care. This bloody locket was finally open, and I was going to follow wherever it told me to go before it had the chance to disappear.

"Harris!" I heard McGonagall say sort of quietly but with just as much outrage. "What are you doing?! Umbridge is on her way!"

But once again, I didn't care. Nothing was getting in my way. I continued forward, making my way down staircases until I reached the ground floor and the arrow pointed out to the snow-covered grounds. I obeyed, running into the pitch darkness before casting " _Lumos_ " to light the way, trudging through the snow. I wasn't wearing anything very warm, just a v-neck, a pair of tight jeans, and the Chucks George got me for my birthday last year, but I wasn't cold . . . that much. After all, Norway was far colder.

The arrow continued to glow and wiggle, pointing to the Forbidden Forest across the Black Lake. When I came to the lake, I moved around it and checked the compass once I was in front of the forest. But the arrow had moved, it was now pointing back the way I'd just come from. I turned and started running back, but as I moved around the edge of the lake, I noticed the arrow moved with me to point toward it. It wanted me to go in the lake.

 _All right, so perhaps something IS getting in my way_ , I thought desolately.

The last time I'd been in that lake with my locket, I was killed by the selkies lurking inside of it. Even when I didn't have the locket, I'd been attacked . . . but I certainly didn't want to die again. I didn't think I'd be able to cheat death twice.

Regardless, I continuously tried to convince myself to just do it, but every time I moved close enough to the lake to jump in, I reconsidered and backed up. It wasn't until I heard someone shouting my name from inside the castle that I received the proper motivation.

"DEMETRIA HARRIS!"

It was Umbridge.

I tucked my wand in my back pocket and dove into the lake, but as soon as I'd done so, I found myself moving. It was just for a brief second — almost like Apparation — and then I found myself being floated up to the surface. When my head popped up above the water, I found I was no longer at Hogwarts. In fact, when I climbed up onto the white-and-gray stone pathway in front of me, It looked like I was in the very same location from my dream. The path ahead was lined with white buildings on either side, the only difference being that there were absolutely no candles lit in any windows. Also, I was freezing. Wherever I was, there wasn't any snow on the ground, but it was still rather cold, and I was certainly far more frigid than I had been before because now I was sopping wet.

I tried not to pay it too much mind, however, as I checked the compass which told me to continue forward, and when I reached the same fork in the road from my dream, the arrow spun to the left. I retrieved my wand from my back pocket and cast " _Lumos_ " again to light my way down the dark path. I moved cautiously, especially when the arrow told me to enter one of the white buildings. These were not ordinary buildings, however, they appeared to be made of stone or clay, and were all connected.

I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I knocked again — still nothing. That was when I remembered it was the middle of the night, but I wasn't just going to wait until morning, so I pounded on the door a few times. I heard someone yell from inside — it sounded like an older woman, and she seemed annoyed, but she wasn't speaking English. I pounded again.

The door burst open, revealing a spritely-looking elderly woman, clad in deep purple robes, a crystal hanging on a beaded chain around her neck, with an untamed head of rather long, silver hair. Her eyes were what threw me off, though — they appeared to be purely grey, darker than her mane, and were glaring at me intensely.

She began shouting at me in her language once again, until she caught sight of my locket. Calming down, she said something else to me, but I didn't understand and it must've shown on my face.

"You do not speak Greek?" she asked me through her thick accent.

" _Greek_?" I parroted. "Is that — Are we in Greece?"

The woman gave a breath of laughter before saying, "Mykonos — one of the Cyclades islands." She then retreated back into her home and ushered me inside. "Took your time getting here, didn't you?"

Her house's interior was no where near as simple as the exterior. There were all sorts of dark, deep colors everywhere, in tapestries, armchairs, pillows, and cushions on the floor. An elegant fireplace was burning in front of a large armchair, a pile of books laying around it.

"I came as soon as I opened the locket," I said defensively.

"It took you three months to open the locket?" she asked in disbelief, draping a large, woolly blanket around my shoulders before taking a seat; I followed suit.

"Well it didn't exactly come with instructions," I pressed.

"Did Lucy teatz you nothing?" she said, still astounded.

"You knew my mother?" I said, perking up.

"Of course!" said the woman. "I trained her in the way of the Light! I knew you were her tzild — You look dzust like her . . ." the woman seemed to forget her train of thought for a moment, and that was when I couldn't help thinking: _She taught my mum? How old is this woman?_

"None of your business," she snapped.

"Dumbledore tried to contact you," I said. "None of his owls were able to find you — he thought you were dead."

"They found me — I sent them all back," she said airily.

"Why?"

"You were not ready!" she said exasperatedly. "But I did not think it would take you so long! Your mother did not tell you about the locket, did not teatz you our language —"

"She's dead," I said softly.

The woman froze, her eyes wide with more shock. It was a few moments before she spoke again, quietly, "How long?"

"Fourteen years."

I felt bad for not being upset, but it was so hard when I barely knew either of my parents. Of course I still loved them, but I wasn't sure if I could say that I missed them when I hardly even knew them.

"Poor thing . . ." said the woman, and it sounded sort of sad, but also like she was trying to disconnect herself from her emotions. "Well then, it is good you have made it — we have mutz work to do. I am Kleio Alexakis, teacher of the Néa Aímata —"

"What is — ?"

"You know nothing," Kleio reminded herself. "New Bloods — there is mutz to tell you. What is your name, young White?"

"Actually it's Harris," I said, pulling the blanket tighter around myself. "Demetria Harris."

"Ah, Dimitria — a strong, Greek name," said Kleio proudly. "You are Greek, you know?"

"Er, I didn't know," I admitted.

"No, why would you?" she said hopelessly. "Probably the Latinized spelling — Make no mistake — K-L-E-I-O — not C-L-E-O. I was named after one of the —"

"Nine Muses," I finished. "Kleio was the goddess of history."

Kleio appeared impressed. "At least you know the mythology," she said. "But you must learn the language."

She then proceeded to retrieve one of the books from the floor and toss it at my unsuspecting arms which were still holding the blanket. The large book landed in my lap.

"Páno!" she said, standing up. "Up!"

I moved the book and got to my feet, but kept the blanket around my shoulders as I was still shivering. Kleio, however, removed the blanket and pulled the back of my shirt up. My hands instantly flew to hold down the front.

"Mhmm," she said, probably examining the marks on my back.

"What are they?" I inquired.

"Lumen runes," she told me airily, pulling my shirt back down and placing the blanket over me again. "We all have them — some have more." She rolled up the sleeves of her robes, her arms covered in the strange, tan markings. "Now, there is mutz to do, we have fallen behind. Where will you be for the winter holiday?"

"London with my godfath —"

"Address — I will take you," she said, wrapping her hair up in a scarf that matched her robes. "Do not forget this." She shoved the book in one of my hands and held onto the other.

"Er, 12 Grimmauld Place —"

We were launched through the sensation of Apparation and appeared outside, on the street just in front of house number eleven; to the left, there was number ten, and to the right, there was number thirteen.

"You are sure it is twelve?" Kleio asked me, doubtfully.

I thought what Remus had told me to in order for 12 to first appear — _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_.

A battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows.

"I'm sure," I told her. "So should I owl you — ?"

"Dzust a moment," said Kleio, walking up to the door. I moved to stop her from ringing the doorbell because I knew what a commotion it caused, and knocked on the door instead. "What, are you embarrassed of me? I will be polite, tzild, do not worry —"

"Demetria!" said Sirius, opening the door. "Where've you been? Who's this? And . . . why're you soaking wet?"

"It's sort of a long story," I said.

Sirius ushered me inside, but when Kleio tried to join, he was rather hesitant to allow it.

"It's all right, Sirius," I told him.

The two finally broke their staredown and Sirius allowed Kleio to come inside.

"Everyone's in the kitchen," he told me.

"Be quiet," I instructed Kleio, really not in the mood to hear Sirius's mother shriek at the top of her lungs at such an ungodly hour. And though I thought Kleio would object in some way, she listened to me as I led the way downstairs to the kitchen.

Sure enough, everyone was there, and when they caught sight of me, everyone gave similar exclamations. They all asked why I'd run off, where I'd been, why I was wet, and who this woman next to me was.

"Everyone, please!" cried Mrs. Weasley, hurrying up to me and hugging me. "Oh, Demetria, I'm just glad you're all right! And thank you so much — you saved my Arthur's life! If it weren't for you —" But she broke off, and gave another cry of relief as she hugged me tighter, pressing the large book deeper into my stomach.

"Wha — Oh, it was all thanks to my grandad," I insisted.

"Well then thank you to both of you," she said, pulling away. "We're all going to visit Arthur later — Hello, I'm Molly Weasley."

I'd actually been expecting Mrs. Weasley to be rather skeptical of my guest, but I guessed she was just in far too good of a mood.

"Kleio Alexakis," said Kleio, shaking Molly's hand. "I am here to teatz young Demetria to control her Light."

"Blimey, where did you run to?" asked Fred incredulously.

"And _why_ , for the love of Merlin, are you wet?" George added exasperatedly.

I launched into the story of my locket, the song, the compass — everything. When I was finished, no one spoke for a minute until Mrs. Weasley noticed me pulling the blanket closer.

"Poor dear," she said trying to warm up my arms. "It's been quite a long night. We're all about to have some breakfast and then get some sleep — Oh, you haven't got any dry clothes."

"Dumbledore said he'd send us our trunks from school," said Ginny.

"She's not sleeping in that," said Sirius, getting up from the table and walking over to me. "I won't have anything that'll fit, but —"

"Anything's better than these," I said, referring to my dampened attire.

I went to follow Sirius out of the kitchen, and Kleio was right behind me.

"Demetria, send me an owl when you have returned to school," she instructed. "You go to Hogwarts, yes?"

"Yes," I told her.

"Very good, I sall send word to Albus," she said, about ready to leave. "Now, do not forget to study up — lessons begin ztraight away. Enjoy the holiday."

I didn't have time to say anything else, as Kleio had Disapparated with a loud _pop_.

"She seems pleasant," Sirius teased as I walked with him up the stairs.

I suppose I'd been hoping that my teacher would be a bit more nurturing and patient, and Kleio seemed to have a rather tough and business-like attitude that I was sure Percy would appreciate.

"Maybe I've just got to warm up to her," I offered, more so for my own benefit though, because I wasn't looking forward to taking lessons of any kind from someone like Percy.


	17. Chapter 16: Puffed-Up Popinjay

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

 _Puffed-Up Popinjay_

:.:.:

After I'd changed into Sirius's clothes, I didn't return to the kitchen. I was so exhausted that I simply went straight to bed, finally able to get a good night's rest without worrying about the locket — whether I'd lose it, whether I'd ever be able to open it — finally, I could just relax and not have a panic attack over the bleeding thing. In fact, I slept so well, that I didn't even wake up until the late afternoon after everyone had left to visit Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's. That was also when our trunks arrived from Hogwarts, so I swapped Sirius's clothes for my own and made my way down into the kitchen.

"Look who's finally up," said Sirius, seated at the table. "The Prodigal Lumen returns."

I chuckled and had a seat across from him, helping myself to the plate of food Mrs. Weasley had prepared for me from lunch.

"I take it everyone's at St. Mungo's," I said before biting into a sandwich.

"Yeah, but Arthur should be coming home soon — maybe today, even," Sirius told me. "He really is lucky you told Dumbledore when you did. Things could've been a lot worse."

"Like I told Mrs. Weasley — it was all thanks to my grandad," I said modestly. I wasn't the big hero everyone was making me out to be — I didn't save Mr. Weasley, at least it didn't feel like that way.

"You played a part nonetheless," Sirius insisted brightly before pausing and then speaking seriously. "Demetria, I reckon I misjudged your grandfather. I'm sorry I haven't spoken very highly of him, but at the time —"

"Believe me, you don't need to apologize," I assured him, taking another bite of the sandwich. "I reckon I've said my fair share of horrible things about him too . . ."

I kept hoping that night in the common room wouldn't be the last time I was able to speak to Grandad, wasn't the last time I could tell him I loved him. I wished I could've had a real conversation with him, maybe seen him smile one last time . . .

"Hey, don't go blaming yourself for anything," said Sirius. "He had yours and your father's safety at heart, but he went about things the wrong way. What's important now is that you've forgiven him and he knows you love him."

I was starting to lose my appetite.

"I just wasted so much time being mad at him and ignoring him, when I should've been spending time with him," I said quietly. "I dunno how much time he's got left —"

"Dem, he's in rather great shape for someone his age," Sirius offered in an effort to cheer me up. "I don't reckon he's even eighty yet, and look at Dumbledore —"

"You didn't see him, Sirius," I said desolately, Grandad's worn face vivid in my mind. "Voldemort's killing him . . . I wonder if I'll even find out when he's died."

My fingertips began glowing with their usual spark of white electricity. Sirius was quiet, unsure of what to say. I'd dropped the sandwich to the plate and hadn't planned on picking it back up. My appetite was completely gone. When Sirius finally started to speak again, I stopped him.

"Maybe I've gone about this the wrong way," I said ruefully.

"What d'you mean?" Sirius cautiously inquired. I'd been staring at my hands, trying to relax, but I caught a glimpse of Sirius's expression and he seemed rather apprehensive.

"The night Voldemort returned," I began, "I should've stayed on on his side — I could've been working for the Order as a double agent like Snape."

Sirius only showed a mild amount of surprise for a second.

"It's rather obvious," I told him before getting back on track. "But I didn't even realize that could've been an option — I thought posing as a Death Eater was just the coward's way out."

"Is that why you changed your mind?" Sirius asked me.

"Sort of, I guess," I admitted. "I just remember thinking — Harry should've been doing whatever it took to survive and _I_ should've stood my ground. I mean, we all need Harry, right? He's the Boy Who Lived. Me? I'm just a girl. I'm not a very important piece in this."

I wasn't sure how Sirius would be looking at me now, but even when I turned my gaze to him, I still couldn't tell. He appeared deep in thought, caught in the middle of something.

"Don't get me wrong," I quickly added, "everyone involved in the revolution is important, but you know what I mean — we'd still be able to beat Voldemort if I died —"

"Demetria, you're not just a throwaway piece — you're not some pawn," he told me gravely. "We've got to protect you just as much as Harry — Voldemort's after both of you."

I realized this was my chance to find out what was going on, what the Order was up to. Sirius would've spilled everything the first night Harry arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place, but Mrs. Weasley stopped him. But this time, Mrs. Weasley wasn't around.

"What's he want with _me_?"

But as soon as I'd asked, I knew what the answer was.

In my mind, I heard Sirius say that Voldemort wanted _"Stuff he can only get by stealth. Something he didn't have last time. Like a weapon — two, actually."_

Then, I remembered the very first dream I had about the locket, and heard my mother tell me, _"Demetria, you must listen to me_ — _do not let him steal it from you."_

"My Light?"

Sirius nodded and said darkly, "We reckon he either wants to harness your power for himself, or use you to enslave the rest of your people."

"And Dumbledore doesn't want me knowing that?" I asked incredulously.

But before Sirius could reply, we heard movement upstairs. Everyone was back.

"Demetria —"

"I won't tell Mrs. Weasley," I assured a rather tentative-looking Sirius who smiled gratefully.

As soon as I'd climbed the stairs up from the kitchen, the collection of Weasleys all took turns hugging me and thanking me. I wasn't sure why I felt so odd accepting their gratitude, after all, I s'pose I _did_ save their father's life . . . Perhaps I was just so used to these things happening to Harry. He was always the hero, not me. Then again, Sirius had said it himself: I wasn't just the pawn I thought I was.

George was at the very end of the line that had formed, and when it was time for his turn, he appeared rather uncertain, as though he'd made a mistake. I couldn't blame him, though — I'd been dodging him like the plague ever since I told him I had feelings for him. But, as usual, I should've known that us avoiding one another never worked out.

"You're welcome, Weasley," I said with a hint of a smirk, holding out my arms.

He genuinely smiled and wrapped his arms around me, his familiar, warm, ambery scent engulfing me.

"Thank you, Tri," he told me whole-heartedly.

It felt as though we were standing there for longer than was necessary, but I didn't want to let go, and George wasn't making any moves to do so either. But eventually, we did pull apart, but our arms were still around one another. I could practically feel myself gazing up at him with big, innocent doe-eyes, and knew I should've stopped. He was, after all, still dating Alicia.

"Sorry I've been avoiding you," I lamely said, finding the strength to finally drop my hands to my sides; George reluctantly did the same.

"I understand," he assured me, "as long as you're done avoiding me . . ."

He was wiggling his eyebrows at me and I couldn't help but laugh a little.

"All right, yeah, I'm done," I admitted defeat.

"Good," he said, smiling sincerely.

"Good," I repeated, mirroring his smile.

Good — sort of an inside joke we had, I s'pose. When George wanted to ask me to be his date to the Yule Ball, but I'd already found one, he insisted he had one too, and . . .

 _"Oh no, no worries, no, not at all. I've got a date, Demetria. Yeah, no, I was only joking around, y'know, just…pulling your leg."_

 _"Oh, all right, well that's…good then, yeah? We both have dates, I mean."_

 _"Yeah! It's just great actually."_

 _"Excellent."_

 _"Superb."_

 _"Ace."_

 _"Peachy."_

 _"See you tonight."_

 _"Save me a da — a damn seat."_

 _"Good."_

It was happening again — I was staring up at George, longingly, just hoping he would lean in and kiss me . . . but that didn't happen. Instead, our moment was interrupted by someone shouting from a nearby room.

"I haven't moved!"

It sounded like Harry.

I didn't say anything to George as I moved quickly up the stairs and stood outside the room Harry and Ron shared.

"So what's the message?" Harry asked.

"I have just given it to you, dolt," I heard Phineas Nigellus say smoothly. "Dumbledore says, ' _Stay where you are_.'"

"Why?" said Harry eagerly, followed by a loud _thud_. "Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?"

"Nothing whatsoever," said Phineas.

Harry exploded.

"So that's it, is it?" he said loudly. " _Stay there?_ That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those dementors too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!"

"You know," said Phineas, even more loudly than Harry, "this is precisely why I _loathed_ being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occured to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognize danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realize what the Dark Lord may be planning . . ."

Phineas had taken the words right out of my mouth, except for the part about Harry being a puffed-up popinjay — whatever that was. But then I remembered I'd just asked Sirius for more information . . . but I wasn't prying anything out of him, or shouting at anyone about it . . . I dunno, maybe I wasn't much better than Harry — maybe I was just a hypocrite, and a puffed-up popinjay.

–

Harry didn't leave his room for anything — not even dinner. The following morning, while the rest of us were putting up Christmas decorations, Harry was still no where to be seen. I considered going in to talk to him, but I knew I wouldn't've been able to remain calm while he talked about how he deserved to know what Dumbledore's plans were. I had to admit, I was rather frustrated that I couldn't think of a logical reason as to why Dumbledore would keep me in the dark about Voldemort wanting my Light — Ha, dark and light — but I also accepted the fact that he had his reasons and that I would know when the time was right. To be honest, though, I wasn't concerning myself with that nearly as much as I'd been obsessing over the idea of Grandad dying without ever really seeing him again.

Someone who seemed to be in the best mood I'd ever seen them in, however, was actually Sirius. He was even singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. And speaking of company, another guest arrived that night.

"'Moine!" I greeted the bushy-haired witch as she entered Ron and Harry's bedroom. Mrs. Weasley had lit a fire in there and sent up sandwiches; we were all gathered inside. Well, everyone except Harry. He'd finally left the room, but only to seclude himself once again.

"Are you staying for Christmas?" asked Ginny eagerly.

"I am, yeah!" Hermione said brightly.

"Not much of a skiier, are we?" teased Ron, laughing. (I then had to have Ginny explain to me what skiing was).

"Actually it was really good," Hermione insisted, though a bit sheepishly. "I just thought I'd —"

But she gave up on fabricating an excuse, as Ron couldn't stop laughing.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, irritated with Ron.

"Reckon he's up in the drawing room with Buckbeak," George told her.

"He's been hiding from all of us," Ginny said sadly.

Ron stopped laughing to add, "Yeah, since we got back from visiting Dad."

"Let me see what I can do," said Hermione.

"I wouldn't even bother," I said bluntly just as she'd turned to leave.

"Yeah, I reckon I'd want to be left alone if everyone thought You-Know-Who was possessing _me_ ," said Fred surprisingly seriously.

" _What_?" said Hermione anxiously.

"They don't know for sure that's what's happening," said Ginny testily.

"We used the Extendable Ears at the hospital and heard Mum, Tonks, and Moody talking," Ron explained, "saying Dumbledore's been waiting for something like this — Harry seeing through Voldemort's eyes or whatever."

Hermione moved quickly to leave and I watched Ron's eyes follow her.

"Viktor was right about you two," I said with a smirk.

"Ugh," he groaned. "you know they still write to each other?"

"They're just friends, Ron," I said reassuringly. "Nothing to be jealous about."

"I'm not jealous," he insisted, though not convincingly, his ears reddening. "What'd Viktor say?"

"You two are meant to be together," I said simply.

"You do already argue like a married couple," said Ginny with a knowing grin.

"Aw, Ronniekins," cooed George mockingly, "do I hear wedding bells?"

"For you and Demetria, maybe," Ron shot back. And I had to admit, although the comment itself made me feel a bit — I dunno, weird for lack of a better word — I was proud of Ron for throwing his older brother a witty retort instead of rolling over . . . That sounded sort of mean, but you know how I meant it.

Fred and Ginny were smirking at Ron's response, but George and I simply looked to one another and then immediately looked away. Thankfully, the subject was changed as Harry and Hermione entered the room.

"I came on the Knight Bus," said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket. "Dumbledore told Finn and I what had happened first thing yesterday morning" — I was relieved to hear Finn knew what was going on; I'd been worried that he was worried and I couldn't write him because Ares was still at Hogwarts — "but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, and he'd given you all permission to visit. She even insists she saw Demetria dive into the Black Lake and never return . . ."

Everyone in the room gave a little chuckle, except Hermione — oh, and Harry, of course.

"She's not wrong about that," I said casually.

And before she could even ask, I briefly recapped what had happened that night to fill her in.

"Wow, Dumbledore didn't mention that," said Hermione, astounded. "Well, I'm glad you finally found someone, Demetria," she then turned back to Harry, "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," said Harry stiffly.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry," she said impatiently. "Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."

"They do, do they?" said Harry, glaring at the guilty parties. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.

"Well, you have!" she said. "And you won't look at any of us!"

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" said Harry angrily; it was always one big pity party with him.

"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other," suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Very funny," snapped Harry, turning away.

I groaned, and Hermione voiced my thoughts: "Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," she said sharply. "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears —"

"Yeah?" growled Harry. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it . . ."

"We wanted to talk _to you_ , Harry," said Ginny, "but as you've been hiding ever since we got back —"

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," said Harry.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," said Ginny angrily, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

I immediately shot my gaze toward Fred and George who nodded to me, and I took that to mean that they would fill me in on that later.

"I forgot," said Harry quietly.

"Lucky you," Ginny coolly said.

"I'm sorry," he told her sincerely. "So . . . so do you think I'm being possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?" Ginny asked. "Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"

Harry paused for a moment before saying, "No."

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," said Ginny simply. "When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."

"That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though —"

"Harry, you've had these dreams before," Hermione said. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year."

"That was different," insisted Harry, shaking his head. "I was inside that snake. It was like I _was_ the snake . . . What if Voldemort somehow transported me to London — ?"

"One day you'll read _Hogwarts: A History_ ," said Hermione exasperatedly, "and perhaps that will remind you that you can't Apparate and Disapparate inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry."

"You didn't leave your bed, mate," said Ron. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep about a minute before we could wake you up . . ."

"Harry, Voldemort can show you anything he wants," I said darkly. "It happened to me last year — I kept having visions of . . . everyone I cared about, dead . . . I had to learn Occlumency just to block it out —"

"What's — ?"

"Basically just learning to magically close your mind," I answered Harry's unasked question.

"Remind me to learn that once you're able to control your mind-reading," said Fred in jest.

"Believe me, I don't want to know what goes on up there," I assured him before turning back to Harry, who was now pacing up and down the room. "Harry, your connection with Voldemort is much stronger — maybe he didn't even mean to show that to you, but you said it yourself: your scar let's you — er — feel whatever he's feeling . . ."

Harry didn't speak, but he did take a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily into his mouth, and somehow, we all took that as a good sign.


	18. Chapter 17: A Very Weasley Christmas

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

 _A Very Weasley Christmas_

:.:.:

Mr. Weasley was back by Christmas Eve, giving me the very same thanks that I had received from the other Weasleys. I was finally able to just accept it now, though. Also, now that Harry was feeling better, he'd been helping me cast the Patronus Charm, as he said he would. We'd only had one lesson so far, as there was quite a lot of cleaning and decorating to do around Grimmauld Place, but he said I was a quick learner, as I was already closer at producing it than he'd been.

When I wasn't practicing " _Expecto Patronum_ ," cleaning, _or_ decorating, however, I was buried in the book Kleio had given me . . . or trying to stop a nosebleed and rid myself of the voices in my head. Fred and George were helping me learn Greek, and I was definitely showing progress, but I just hoped Kleio wasn't expecting me to be fluent in it by the time break was over. I then realized . . . of course she was.

Christmas morning came, and I'd sorted through my gifts from everyone, including the ones sent from Finn, Viktor, and Grigor. I certainly did miss Christmas with my brothers, almost as much as I missed Christmas with Grandad . . .

It had been a few days since I'd thought of him, with how busy I'd been keeping myself, but all of the anxiety came flooding back, tears filling in my eyes. The only thing that made me feel even worse was that I hadn't been thinking of Cedric . . . I wondered if perhaps I'd finally reached a stage of acceptance . . . and hoped the same could be done rather soon about Grandad.

"Oi, Dem," said Ginny as she, Hermione, and I had finished opening our gifts. "Welcome to the family."

She was gesturing to the emerald green jumper I was currently admiring. Fred and George told me that Mrs. Weasley always hand-knitted one for each of her children and Harry. I was honestly touched that she'd done the same for me, and I'd just pulled my head and arms through it when Fred and George Apparated into our room with a loud _crack_.

"Happy Christmas," said George. "Just warning everyone: don't go downstairs for a bit."

"Why?" Ginny inquired.

"Mum's crying again," said Fred heavily, before catching sight of me. "Princess, you can't wear that."

"Why not?" I asked, taken aback.

"She's emotional enough as it is," said George. "One glimpse of you in her jumper and she'll never stop crying."

"Oh shush, you two," said Hermione. "They'll be happy tears — she'll love it."

"Percy sent his back," Fred told us.

"Without a note," added George. "Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited or anything."

"We tried to comfort her," said Fred. "Told her Percy's nothing more than a humongous pile of rat droppings —"

"— didn't work," said George.

"Message received: we won't go downstairs yet," I said in an effort to get them to stop switching off their sentences. "Have you told Ron and Harry?"

"Just about to, actually," said Fred briskly. "By the way, Dem, thanks for the owl."

"We're going to miss Ares, though," George added.

"I don't reckon he'll miss you," I teased, although it was probably true. "And thanks for the scarf, Fred."

Fred bowed deeply and I rolled my eyes. He'd gotten me a Tutshill Tornados scarf, and I thought it was from both of them, but the card specifically only said _From, Fred_. George, surprisingly, hadn't gotten me anything, but I wasn't going to mention it. Although it seemed Ginny was.

"George didn't get you anything?" she asked bluntly.

"Actually, that was the other reason we _popped_ in," said Fred with a smirk before, naturally, Disapparating with a loud _pop_.

George simply gestured for me to follow him out the door like a normal person, and I did, walking with him up the stairs to his and Fred's room. He then retrieved a wrapped box from under his bed.

"Wow, you actually wrapped it this time," I teased, referring to the birthday gift he'd given me last year, unwrapped.

"Just take it before I change my mind," he said good-naturedly; I did.

"Why didn't you just leave it in my pile?" I inquired, plopping down on his bed, placing the box in front of me.

"I wanted to see your face when you opened it," he told me sincerely.

I instantly shot my gaze downward at the box so George wouldn't see me grin like an idiot, and I began to tear the paper off. However, once I'd done so and opened the box, there was a much smaller box inside under heaps of packing paper. I raised my eyebrows to George.

"I wanted to throw you off," he admitted with a smirk.

As usual, I rolled my eyes and grinned . . . until I'd opened the second box. Then, my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, my mouth hanging open. Sitting in the box on a thin, silver chain was a small pendant of a crescent moon and a sun.

"George . . ." But that was all I could say. I couldn't find the right words. Last year he'd gotten me sneakers, and now he'd escalated to jewelry? We weren't even dating! I couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten Alicia.

"I know it's — er — a bit much, maybe," he said with nervous laughter, "but I bought it before I started dating Alicia, and as soon as I saw it, it reminded me of you, 'cause — well, you thought you came from this family of — er — darkness, but you've got . . . Light in you . . . It's probably stupid —"

"No," I quickly assured him, "It's — I love it. Thank you, George."

I went to fasten it around my neck, the locket no longer hanging there, but George stopped me.

"Here, let me," he said.

I stood up and gathered my hair to one side, turning my back to him as he gently clasped the necklace in place. I turned around to face him but kept my eyes down for a moment to admire it.

"Now I feel bad that all I got you two was an owl," I admitted ruefully.

"Don't," George insisted, grinning. "Business has really been booming — we need it — him."

"Glad I could help then," I said lamely. "Did you name him yet?"

"Yeah, actually — Apollo," he proudly told me.

"I love that," I told him honestly, "Y'know, Apollo's recognized as the Greek god of a number of things: music, poetry, art, oracles, archery —"

"— plague, medicine, sun, light, and knowledge," George finished for me.

"Er, did I already tell you that?" I asked sheepishly.

He laughed and admitted, "No, I may or may not have done a bit of research on Greek mythology after you named your own owl."

I felt as though my jaw was on the floor once again.

"Yeah I know," said George, still smiling, "it's rather amazing that I cracked open a book that has nothing to do with pranks. I really wanted to impress you, but then I got genuinely interested."

I continued to gaze up at him, and found myself dying to know one thing, and after a moment, I found my voice and asked him: "D'you still like me?"

His smile faltered for a moment, his eyes questioning and brows furrowing.

"I told you a few months ago that I was getting over you," he said simply.

"That doesn't really answer my question," I said as gently as I could manage.

George paused for a moment, his expression now rather sad and serious. He shook his head and I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

"Good to know," I said, forcing a smile of my own. "Thanks again, George, Happy Christmas."

I went to leave, but he grabbed my hand.

"You're not going to avoid me again, are you?" he gloomily asked.

"'Course not," I assured him. "C'mon, I'd say it's safe to go downstairs now."

I sort of wished I could've avoided him, just for a bit, but I swallowed that feeling and walked down to the kitchen with him. Immediately after we ate, however, I rushed off before Fred and George could follow, and went back to work on learning Greek. But it wasn't long before I was interrupted by a knock upon the bedroom door.

"I'm studying — I don't need your help this time," I insisted.

The door opened anyway, but it wasn't the twins standing behind it.

"You shouldn't be studying," said Ginny with a trace of laughter in her voice. "It's Christmas!"

"I know," I agreed, "but Kleio will probably have my head if I don't —"

"Dem, your nose has been stuck in that book so much already, I keep thinking I'm seeing Hermione," she teased. "You can take one day off."

"You're right," I decided, shutting the book. "What d'you want to do?"

Ginny suddenly flashed me a knowing look. "Are you avoiding Fred and George again?" she asked. "Or, well, just George?"

I forced a chuckle.

"No!" I insisted. "We just haven't really spent much time together just the pair of us."

Ginny didn't say anything, as the corners of her mouth began lifting into a smirk.

"All right, fine, I don't really want to see George right now," I admitted exasperatedly. "Are you happy?"

"I won't be happy until you two finally get together!" she said with just as much frustration.

"Well, he says he's over me —"

"Oh, bollocks," Ginny said dismissively, plopping down on her own bed. "I dunno who he thinks he's kidding. It's obvious he still fancies you."

"Doesn't matter," I said, not even wanting to think about whether or not I believed that. "He's with Alicia now."

"That won't last," came a new voice from the doorway — Hermione.

"Not you too," I said hopelessly.

"Sorry, Demetria," she said with a laugh, "but she's right. He's just got to take some time to realize it for himself. But don't worry, it's like I told Ginny — he'll come around."

"And who exactly is Ginny hoping will come around?" I curiously asked with a smirk so mischevious I was sure I resembled Fred and George.

"It's not like I'm just waiting around for him," Ginny defended. "Besides, I'm with Michael."

"Michael Corner, from the D.A.?" I inquired.

"Yes," Hermione said for Ginny, "they started dating after I insisted she try and move on from Harry."

"You're kidding!" I exclaimed. "Hothead Potter?"

"He used to be far less tempermental!" said Ginny defensively, although she was chuckling a bit.

"She couldn't even speak around him then," said Hermione, grinning at the memory.

"All right, enough about me," said Ginny good-naturedly. "The point is, perhaps you should just forget about George for now — you'll both do your own thing and come together when the timing's right."

"Demetria, I thought you were already with someone else," said Hermione with an upward inflection.

I groaned.

"Are Parkinson and Bulstrode still saying that Finn and I are dating?"

"No, I heard you and Adrian Pucey were getting rather close," she briskly said.

"I heard that too!" said Ginny fervently. "Luna swore she saw you and Pucey leaving the Room of Requirement together one morning."

"Oh — er — we're not dating," I admitted, though not really embarrassed.

"So that wasn't you?" she inquired.

"No, it was . . ."

"Demetria!" said Hermione incredulously.

"Calm down, 'Moine, it's not a big deal," I insisted, laughing at her reaction.

"Yeah, she's just taking your advice and moving on!" Ginny added. "Besides, Pucey's gorgeous —"

"— And one of the only decent Slytherins," I added.

"I _meant_ you should move on and date someone properly," said Hermione in a lofty voice, although the corners of her mouth were rising in a way that told me she couldn't disagree with Ginny and I.

–

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " I shouted, a misty animal jetting out from my wand and disappearing in an instant.

"What's wrong, Demetria?" Harry asked me. "You nearly had this spell down last time. It only took her one lesson, Lupin."

I wasn't sure if it was Grandad or George that was currently on my mind and keeping me from concentrating.

"Are you certain the memory is happy enough?" Remus asked curiously.

"Yeah, I'm just distracted is all," I said, voice hollow.

I'd gone through tons of different memories to see which would work best, some from Durmstrang with Viktor and Grigor, some at Harris Manor with Grandad . . . I'd even tried some with Cedric, but the one I'd settled on was the day I first met Remus, my godfather.

"Well, this charm is incredibly advanced," Remus reasoned. "Your progress on it is already impressive."

"You're nearly there," Harry added brightly.

"All right, I'll give it another go," I decided.

I took a moment to close my eyes and just breathe, trying to clear my head of any and all negative thoughts. But when I started reliving the moment I met Remus, I realized it wasn't enough because I was now wishing that Grandad had also been there when the Triwizard champions' families were invited to visit. I had to choose a different memory . . .

When I decided to transfer to Hogwarts? No . . . Perhaps something to do with playing Quidditch? Maybe a memory with George? Definitely not, that would only depress me at the moment . . . Then I had it — the moment I got the locket back! That moment, although brief, stood out like a beacon in the middle of the very dark week I'd been having.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

My eyes were still closed, but I heard Remus encouraging me, saying, "Almost!" and Harry suggesting, "Something happier, maybe!"

More? Certainly, I'd go a step further — when I finally _opened_ the locket. Better yet — when Mum gave me the locket. No wait, that was it: Mum and Dad! Although it was rather bleak to recall the memory from when I — er — died, I thought back to when I was standing with them . . . they said they were proud of me . . . they said they loved me . . . Dad called me Tri . . . I hugged them . . .

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ "

I opened my eyes to see a bright white, fully-formed wolf leap from the tip of my wand. It bounded around the living room for a moment as Remus and Harry praised my job well done, and then vanished into thin air.

"A wolf, eh?" said Remus, grinning.

"Seems that way," I said, mirroring it. I knew Remus's Patronus was also a wolf.

"It's rather fitting for you," he said proudly. "Wolves are brave, honorable, intelligent animals."

"Harry, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley, popping her head in. "Ah, here you are. Could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you."

Harry's mouth fell open in horror as I asked the question that was surely on his mind as well, "Snape's here?"

" _Professor_ Snape, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

"Harry, are you really _that_ bad at Potions that Snape's got to make a house call?" I said, half-joking.

"I guess I'll find out," he said blankly, leaving the room.

I followed him, but Remus stopped me for a second.

"No eavesdropping, Demetria," he told me disapprovingly.

"It's got to do with Voldemort, then?" I bluntly asked.

"What's going on?" asked Ron, opening his bedroom door. Hermione and Ginny were standing behind him.

"Snape's here to talk to Harry," I said before Remus could stop me. When he sighed, I defended myself with, "What? Harry's going to tell them anyway."

Remus admitted defeat and walked off, probably because he knew I was right . . . and I was. Harry wasn't down there long, and when he came back upstairs, he told us that Dumbledore wanted him to start taking Occlumency lessons with Snape but wouldn't exactly give a reason why.

"It's got to be to keep Voldemort out of your mind, Harry," I told him. "That's why I had to learn it."

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Harry admitted. "I even asked if you could teach me instead."

"I'm guessing that didn't work out," said Ron darkly; Harry shook his head.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach you himself?" Hermione inquired.

"He didn't say," said Harry in irritation. "If anyone asks, I'm supposed to say I'm taking Remedial Potions."

"Well, at least you won't be having nightmares about Voldemort any longer," Hermione offered.

"Extra lessons with Snape?" said Ron, sounding aghast. "I'd rather have the nightmares!"


	19. Ch 18: Light, Truth, Strength, Wisdom

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

 _Light, Truth, Strength, Wisdom_

:.:.:

It had been the last night of holiday, and so the following morning, we were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus, escorted by Remus and Tonks. After a rather hurried breakfast, we all pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly grey January morning. Sirius and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley bade everyone goodbye, and then we were shunted out into the icy winter air.

We rode the violently purple, triple-decker bus known as the Knight Bus all the way up to the gates of Hogwarts. It was certainly convenient, but with all of the banging and sliding around, it wasn't worth it to do ever again. Remus and Tonks helped us all off the bus with our luggage before saying their goodbyes.

"Good luck with your lessons," Remus said, planting a kiss on top of my head and then turning to Harry. "Both of you."

The seven of us then struggled up the slippery drive toward the castle, dragging our trunks. Once we'd passed through the oak front doors, we were greeted by the bustling of all of the other students, probably heading to their common rooms.

"I'll see you lot around," I said to the six of them, and then proceeded to the Slytherin common room where I was attacked right on sight.

"Hurricane!" exclaimed Finn, wrapping me up in his embrace; I immediately dropped my trunk to return it.

"I reckon that's not going away anytime soon," I laughed.

"Not if the fan mail keeps rolling in the way it's been," he said, pointing to an incredibly tall stack of letters on a table in the far corner of the room.

"You're joking . . ." I said blankly.

"Dumbledore told me himself," he said, amused. "He said he would've forwarded them to you, but —"

"Thank Merlin he didn't," I exclaimed. I didn't even care to hear whatever his reasoning was, I was just thankful for it.

"So . . . ?" said Finn, trailing off hopefully.

"What?" I asked.

"You're just going to stand there and pretend nothing happened over the break? C'mon, lay it on me . . ."

He knew me too well.

–

 _Δημήτρια_ —

 _πρώτο μάθημα μας θα είναι απόψε στις έξι η ώρα το γραφείο του διευθυντή._

— _Κλειώ_

"You can understand that?" Finn asked me, astounded.

Ares had just delivered that letter to me which was, undoubtedly, from Kleio.

"I take it you've never seen Bulgarian written on paper?" I said, smirking.

"I dunno how you can decode _any_ of it," he admitted. "You do know what she's saying though?"

"Our first meeting is tonight at six in Dumbledore's office," I whispered to Finn, as we were seated at the Slytherin table at breakfast and I didn't need anyone asking any questions.

Finn looked to me, even more impressed than he'd been a second ago.

"How are you good at _everything_?" he asked me exasperatedly.

"She's not — she can't bake," Adrian chimed in, winking at me. I laughed, but wasn't surprised he remembered I'd said that.

"He's right," I said. "Besides, anyone can be good at the things I excell it, it's just a matter of either studying or practicing —"

"Well then you're just great at learning in general," said Finn who was still astounded.

"Thanks, efcharistó, blagodarya, and merci," I thanked him in all four of the languages I was able to speak now.

"All right, you don't have to show off."

But by six o'clock that evening, I was no longer feeling so confident. It was true that I seemed to pick things up quicker than most, but this wasn't just a spell or a Quidditch trick to practice, this would undoubtedly require having complete and total control over my emotions — a task that seemed nearly impossible as of lately. When I entered Dumbledore's office, I was already so anxious that my hands were glowing rather severely through the gloves.

"Good evening, Demetria," Dumbledore greeted me from behind his desk where he was seated. "I hope you had a pleasant holiday."

The only sort of response I was able to give was a smile and a nod before Kleio intervened.

"I see you were able to translate," she said in reference to the letter.

She was standing by the table which held the silver instruments, examining them. Her pale, silver hair was collected up in another scarf which matched her robes — this time, both a deep green. Around her neck, hung the same crystal that I'd seen her wear the night we met, and her arms held home to several jingling bangles, although she was currently removing them.

"Yeah, I've been studying," I told her.

"I sould hope so," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice. "Now then, remove the gloves and we sall begin."

I cast a curious glance over to Dumbledore, still seated at his desk, reading something.

"Pretend I am not even here," he insisted, blue eyes twinkling.

I nodded and began pulling the glove from my right hand, but hesitated when I noticed my hand actually start to shake.

"You will not hurt me," Kleio assured me impatiently.

I pulled off both gloves and instantly — and accidentally — shot a blast of Light from each hand. Kleio, however, was prepared for this and outstretched her hands, palms out, placing them next to one another and then quickly sweeping them each to one side. In the space between them, there seemed to be a glowing, white wall. My Light hit the wall and simply absorbed into it. Kleio dropped her hands and the glowing wall vanished.

"You must relax," she said. "You will not learn to control it if you wear your emosons for all to see. The tird rune on your back means _strength_."

I'd closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself in the same white room I'd used when Snape was teaching me Occlumency.

"What do the others mean?" I inquired.

"Light, truth, strength, wisdom — what our people value, if you will," she quickly explained. "First, we will start simple."

I thought I'd recognized the first rune on my back as the very same one inscribed on my locket.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Kleio push aside the furniture with a single flick of her wand. She'd cleared an empty space in the middle of the office and summoned two cushions for us to sit on the floor, which we did.

"I want you to read my mind," Kleio instructed, "but hear only _my_ voice. To do this, you must focus — concentrate — When you are dzust starting, it helps to close your eyes and touch their temples, like this —"

She reached for my hands and placed them on either side of her head; I closed my eyes.

"Repeat: _Diavázo_."

" _Diavázo_ ," I said.

"You know what this means, yes?" she said expectantly.

"Read."

I considered opening my eyes just for a second to see if she was smiling or giving any indication that she was pleased, but decided against it. I knew it wouldn't impress her that I did my homework and was able to translate one word.

"Even though there is no one else here but Albus," Kleio began, "you will start to hear thoughts from nearby — your mind must be trained to hear only one at a time. Do not listen to the others — if you do, they will stay, katalavaíneis?" _**(understand?)**_

 __"Naí," I told her, growing rather worried that I would not be able to accomplish this. _ **(Yes)**_

"When you are ready, say _Diavázo_ ," she said. "It works the same as a spell incantation — verbal or no — but it is easier to start with verbal."

I nodded in understanding, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. The last thing I needed was to get worked up and send out a blast of Light while holding Kleio's temples.

" _Diavázo_ ," I said.

Immediately, it felt as though my mind had been pulled into Kleio's. I could hear her thinking something, but I also heard Dumbledore's thoughts. I tried my best not to focus on them, and only hear the words Kleio was saying — or well, thinking. Unfortunately though, Kleio was right, and the longer I stayed in her mind, the more other peoples' thoughts began to drift in. I blocked them out, trying not to actually hear the words, but allow it to sit in the background as white noise as I concentrated on Kleio's voice. She was speaking in Greek, but I was able to keep up (for the most part) as she thought about the story of Icarus — a Greek god who dared to fly too close to the sun on wings of feathers and wax.

My head was growing heavy and I could feel the blood rushing from my nose.

 _Demetria_ , I heard Kleio think, _when I say so, remove your hands. It will become harder to hear me, but you must focus_.

I nodded, still squeezing my eyes shut.

 _Now_ , she instructed.

Slowly, I moved my hands from her temples, and the further away I took them, the louder everyone else's thoughts became. I was starting to hear bits and pieces of the other students' thoughts, and I was losing Kleio's voice in the chaos. Once I found it again, though, I held on to it like a life raft as I tried to stay afloat and not drown in the sea of voices.

She'd switched to the story of Hercules, and it wasn't long after that hers was the only voice I heard in my mind.

 _Are the others gone?_ she thought.

I nodded.

 _Good_ — _Take this_.

Before I even opened my eyes, I found Kleio shoving a handkerchief in both of my nostrils.

"Rest for a moment," she said sternly, "then we will try again."

This repeated for about an hour, although it became easier every time. By the end of the lesson, I was almost able to hear no one's voice but Kleio's right after saying Diavázo.

"We have made progress, but are still behind," Kleio said, sliding the noisy bangles back on her wrists.

"Is there a deadline I should be worried about?" I asked half-jokingly.

"Yes," she said gravely. "You must be prepared for your pilgrimage on your seventeenth birthday."

"That's over a year away," I said airily.

"And after dzust one lesson, you have mastered the way of the Light," she sarcastically drawled. "I will see you here at the same time next week. Albus" — Dumbledore looked up from his book — "lovely to see you again."

"Always a pleasure, Kleio," he said pleasantly. "I was actually hoping to discuss something with you before you departed."

"Of course," she said, straightening up and focusing intently on him. Dumbledore, however, had his gaze fixed upon me.

"Oh, sorry," I said, turning to leave.

"Have a pleasant evening, Demetria," said Dumbledore, followed by a quick 'goodnight' from Kleio.

"I don't think she likes me very much," I told Finn when I arrived back in the common room.

"I'm sure she's like that with everyone," he insisted. "What d'you reckon Dumbledore wanted to talk to her about?"

I just realized I hadn't been concerned about that, but now that I thought about it . . .

"Well, Kleio's the second-in-command for the Elder Council," I said, keeping my voice low so as not to attract unwanted attention, "They're sort of the leaders of the Lumen clans. I'm sure he wants to ask for her support against Voldemort."

"No doubt she'll cooperate," said Finn, keeping equally as quiet, "if You-Know-Who's really trying to enslave Lumens."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Draco no longer participating in the conversation he'd been having with Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, Crabbe, and Goyle. He seemed distracted, and in case he was trying to listen to Finn and I, I lowered my voice to a whisper.

"I still don't understand why he's after _me_. We've all got the same powers — if anything, shouldn't he want Kleio? She teaches the New Bloods so she's bound to be the most experienced."

"Maybe it hasn't got as much to do with power as it does with revenge," Finn reasoned in a whisper, having also caught sight of Draco. "You and your parents defied him, and my guess is he doesn't handle rejection well."


	20. Chapter 19: Love Drunk

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

 _Love Drunk_

:.:.:

The remainder of January flew by rather uneventfully — Well, aside from the breakout at Azkaban. Yeah, not a big deal, just nine of the most awful Death Eaters to ever walk the earth . . . I know what you're thinking: "Demetria, you've lost your mind! Of course that's a big deal!" Thank you, I know! It's everyone else who was acting as though it was just your average _Daily Prophet_ article! The only other people who seemed at all interested were the Golden Trio (naturally) and the professors, but of course, Umbridge squashed that before it even really started. She immediately issued Educational Decree Number Twenty-six: _Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach_.

My lessons with Kleio seemed to be going rather well, although I couldn't help but feel as though it was always one step forward and two back. We were still working on mind reading, and though I felt like I nearly had the hang of it by the end of our first lesson, the second time around, it felt like starting almost completely over.

"That is why the lessons are spaced out so far," Kleio had explained to me. "I told you, this will take time."

But she always loved to remind me how little time we had. It wasn't my fault I couldn't figure out how to open the sodding locket. Anyway, speaking of lessons, Harry told me that his lessons with Snape were actually going even worse than mine. Snape was supposed to be teaching him Occlumency, but Harry was having trouble clearing his mind and said he was still having nightmares about the Department of Mysteries, which appeared to be a reoccuring theme. I never questioned what was in the Department of Mysteries, but between Mr. Weasley being attacked there, Harry's dreams about it, and the _Prophet_ reports about it being broken into, it was obvious that whatever weapon Voldemort was after (aside from my Light) was in the department.

By the time February rolled around, I was feeling more drained than ever. Something that always kept me going though, was watching everyone improve during the D.A. meetings, especially Neville. He seemed far more determined than anyone else, and I was sure it was because a certain Death Eater broke out of Azkaban, the very same one who had a hand in torturing his parents to insanity — Bellatrix Lestrange. This didn't appear to be common knowledge, so I assumed Neville didn't want anyone knowing, and I respected that of course, not even mentioning it to Finn. Hell, I wished _I_ didn't even know about it.

"Hey, Dem," said Adrian. Harry and I were walking around and observing everyone as they practiced the Shield Charm. "So you know there's a Hogsmeade trip coming up?"

"Yeah, the one on Valentine's Day," I said casually; I knew where this was going, and to be honest, I was sort of excited about it.

"Yeah," he said, smiling as charmingly as ever, "I was wondering, if you don't already have plans —"

"Sorry, Pucey, she does," George intervened.

I turned to look at him questioningly and saw how genuinely jealous he was . . . but that couldn't've been . . .

"Alicia?" I mouthed to him; he shook his head and my heart did a somersault. "Sorry, Adrian, I do actually have plans."

I _was_ a bit crestfallen, but I also couldn't stop smiling like an idiot.

"Not a problem," Adrian assured me, still grinning good-naturedly.

He went back to practicing, and I turned back to George.

"What happened with Alicia?" I asked him.

"We can talk about it this weekend in Hogsmeade," said George, although he didn't seem as happy about going out with me as I thought he'd be. He wasn't even smiling. I didn't press it though, and simply let him return to casting the Shield Charm.

The morning of Valentine's Day, I was already feeling less than my best after a rather intense and tiresome Quidditch match against Ravenclaw the previous day (which we won), but add in the pressure of my first actual date with George, and I was a wreck.

"I didn't peg you the type to worry so much about what you look like, Dem," Daphne teased as I searched through my trunk, holding up different outfit combinations.

"I'm not," I assured her, "but, I dunno, this isn't just some casual date — I'm finally going out with _George_. He's had a crush on me for —"

"— forever," Daphne finished with a laugh, "so he won't care what you're wearing! Don't put so much pressure on it."

"Y'know what, you're right," I said decidedly, choosing a pair of ripped, blue jeans and a simple, black sweater.

"Perfect," she assured me after I'd changed into it and looked uncertainly in the mirror. "Want me to braid your hair?"

"Sure," I said brightly, just as I'd started to run a brush through my dirty-blonde locks.

About half-way through the braiding, I asked Daphne, "So have you got any big Valentine's plans?"

"Nothing romantic," she said airily. "Do you — er — know what Finn is up to today?"

She'd struggled to keep her tone casual when asking that, and I almost didn't want to tell her.

"Yeah actually," I said ruefully. "He's got a date with Sara Fawcett from Ravenclaw."

"Oh, Sara's nice," said Daphne, clearly disappointed. "Well, I'm finished here. Have fun today," she said distractedly, and immediately went to leave.

"Thanks, Daph!" I called after her, and couldn't help but feel bad. On the other hand though, she could've been with Finn if she really wanted to (and she definitely did really want to). Then again, that wasn't fair — I still didn't know what was holding her back.

Regardless, I admired my plaited hair in the mirror for a moment and secured my sun and moon necklace around my neck before making my way to the entrance hall where George told me to meet him. I spotted him right away, but I also noticed Fred and Lee standing nearby.

"Hello, Princess!" greeted Fred briskly, bowing low.

"Good morning, Your Majesty!" Lee fervently said, joining Fred in bowing.

"Glad you'll be joining us today," said George, smiling.

 _Us_?

Then I understood — George had no intention of asking me out. He merely saw Adrian about to do so, got jealous, and in order to prevent me from going, he acted as though he really had a date planned for us.

"Me too," I said rather dully, forcing a smile.

George was single, I was single. He liked me, I liked him. And yet, he _still_ couldn't ask me out! This was exactly the type of shite he'd pulled a year ago that made me so furious with him. He always acted like no one else could have me but he never made any moves to get me for himself . . . not that I was anyone's property, but you know what I mean.

The four of us joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch, and I was careful to avoid George's eye, even when he spoke. I only interacted with Fred and Lee all the way down the drive and through the gates.

"Potter and Chang!" I heard Pansy screech to a chorus of snide giggles coming from Millicent and two other birds I didn't recognize. "Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste!"

I saw Cho and Harry speed up to try and get away from them, but luckily for them (and unluckily for me), Pansy soon found a new target.

"Same goes for you, Demetria," she jeered. "I can't believe you'd dump Finn for a Weasley!"

I hadn't even noticed George was the twin I'd been walking beside.

"We're not dating," I said bitingly. "And I'd piss off unless you want your bogies turned into bats."

Pansy tried to act casual, but I saw the look of panic on her face as she backed away. Even the group I was with seemed worried.

"You all right, Dem?" Lee asked cautiously.

"Of course," I said, returning to the most pleasant tone I could manage. "Where d'you lot want to go first?"

They instantly seemed to forget about my outburst, as they all chorused: "Zonko's!"

Usually, I loved Zonko's, but I was having a hard time enjoying it that day, as I was still rather upset with George. The worst part was that he seemed to not even realize he'd done anything wrong. There was actually one point during the Zonko's visit, when all three blokes were so wrapped up in admiring something called Frog Spawn Soap, that I considered sneaking off and finding Adrian.

After another rather lengthy visit, this time at Honeydukes, the twins told Lee and I that they would meet us at the Shrieking Shack.

"Where're you two going?" I asked.

"Not to worry, Princess," Fred assured me, grinning mischeviously, "we won't be long!"

I'd never been to the Shrieking Shack, although I'd heard a great deal about it, mostly from Remus. I knew it was where he went during the full moon to transform while he was at Hogwarts. I'd also heard from nearly everyone else that it was meant to be the most haunted building in Britain.

The inside of it appeared just as run-down as the exterior. Everything was dirty and covered with dust, the furniture moth-eaten and broken. There was a chair that had one of its legs ripped off, and I imagined that was due to Remus.

"Y'know, they're thinking of buying Zonko's," Lee said conversationally, and I knew he was referring to the twins.

"Yeah, I reckon I heard them mention that," I said. Silence passed for a moment before I thought of something else to say. "So are you leaving school early too?"

Lee appeared confused at first, but caught on and said, "Nah, the joke shop is _their_ dream."

"You've helped them with a ton of inventions though," I reminded.

"So have you," he said with a laugh, "it's just not for me though."

"What's _your_ dream then?"

"I dunno," he said earnestly. "I know I should probably have it figured out by now, but I don't."

"Well, you seem to really have a knack for Quidditch commentating," I graciously said.

"Thanks," he said sincerely. "Yeah, that would be fun."

"Or maybe you could be on the radio," I suggested.

Lee appeared really interested in this, but didn't say anything, because Fred and George had entered the shack carrying a box.

"I knew we could count on the Hog's Head!" Lee exclaimed.

Fred placed the box on the ground, reached inside, and pulled up two bottles, handing one to Lee and cracking open the other for himself. George retrieved another two and offered one to me. I avoided his gaze as I accepted what I assumed was butterbeer, but discovered was actually Blishen's Firewhisky.

"Tri, you don't have to if you don't —"

He broke off when I unscrewed the top and took a swig; Fred and Lee cheered.

"All right, Princess!" Fred exclaimed. "That's the spirit!"

"It's too bad there aren't more people here," said Lee with a hint of disappointment. "Truth or Dare is always more fun when you're drinking."

"And more truthful," George added, smirking.

"Why can't we play?" I asked rather harshly before taking another long swig from my bottle.

I figured they wanted more girls there to play, and I was sure Fred and Lee definitely wanted one of those girls to be Angelina.

"Fred and I already know everything about each other," George explained, "and Lee knows _almost_ everything."

"So you can pick dare," I suggested. "Besides, you don't know everything about _me_."

I hadn't intended for that to sound as suggestive as it came out, but it got them all to agree right away. The game started off slow as we were all still waiting for the Firewhisky to kick in, but that didn't take long at all.

"All right, Fred," said Lee, grinning slyly, "truth or dare?"

"Truth!" said Fred briskly, causing Lee and George to groan. "What?! I'm not picking dare again — not after you made me run down the street in nothing but my boxers."

"It's raining — no one was even out there!" George argued, laughing.

"Perhaps they saw me through the invention of the window!"

I gave a full laugh at that.

"I'm glad Demetria's finally having fun!" said Lee heartily. But before I could say anything, he'd turned back to Fred. "Okay, truth, let's see . . . Fred —"

"Lee," said Fred, fighting a serious fit of giggles.

"— did you ever have a crush on Demetria?"

I laughed again and took another sip from my bottle. I was feeling rather odd — there was definitely the buzz from the Firewhisky at work, but I also felt warm in a way I couldn't explain. It wasn't from the alcohol. I felt as though my entire body was emitting the glow I got in my hands whenever my Light came out.

"You'd better tell the truth, Fred!" I told him warningly in a light-hearted way, because I was still sort of chuckling. "I can read your mind and find out if you're lying."

But Fred was completely confident when he said, "Yeah I did — but when I found out you liked her, Georgie, I moved on straight away."

"Right, 'cause no one's allowed to like me but George," I said, the lightness and laughter sort of slipping away from me.

"No," insisted Fred, not realizing how serious I'd become. "I mean 'cause Georgie's my —"

"But it doesn't matter," I continued, "because George won't do a thing about it!"

"All right, Demetria," said George, growing irritated. "Truth or dare?"

"Da —"

"Truth? Ace!" he said scathingly. "Why did you shag Adrian Pucey?"

Fred and Lee gasped rather dramatically, and then cracked up about it. I, on the other hand, felt my blood boil as my stomach dropped.

"Who told you — ?"

"You did," he snapped. "Actually, you told Ginny and Hermione, but I overhe —"

"You were eavesdropping?!" I said, outraged. "What'd you break out the Extendable Ears?!"

"No, it wasn't like that!" he insisted angrily. "I was just going to see if you needed help studying and I heard it!"

"It shouldn't even matter to you!" I argued. "You were with Alicia!"

"Well it _did_ matter because I'm in love with you!"

And this time, when Fred and Lee gasped, they didn't laugh about it afterwards. I wasn't sure why I hadn't reacted the same way — maybe because I always sort of knew that, or maybe just because I'd been drinking — but either way, it didn't stop the argument.

"I can't win with you!" I shouted exasperatedly. "I'm not allowed to be with any blokes because you love me, but you can be with other birds! You're upset when I'm with someone else, and yet, when I tell you I like you, you swear you're over me! You just keep getting mad at me and then not doing a Godricdamn thing about it!"

"I was upset when you dated Cedric because I was jealous!" said George with just as much frustration. "You liked him and not me! I never got mad at you when I heard the rumors about you and Pucey! You were free to shag whoever you wanted, and you did, and I didn't say a bloody word! I dated Alicia to try and move on, and when you told me you liked me, it just scared me! I was scared I'd ruin everything somehow and then you'd never want to speak to me again!"

"So why wouldn't you let me go out with Adrian?!" I exclaimed. "Why would you have me tag-a-long on your big Valentine's plans to get pissed with Fred and Lee when you could've just left me alone and let me go on a date?!"

"Because I love you!" he said as though I hadn't heard him the first time.

"So what?!" I shot back. "You're not doing anything about it except sabotaging any potential relationship I could have! There are blokes out there who are interested in me, George, and they're not afraid to make a move!"

"Fine, you want me to make a move?!"

"Yeah, let me just wait a yea —"

But before I could finish, George had grabbed me around the waist and let his lips crash onto mine. I laced my hands around his neck and held the back of his head as his hands moved up and held me around the small of my back. I could taste the Firewhisky on his lips, as we remained frozen in what seemed to be a world of our own for a moment . . .

" _Ahem_!"

. . . until Lee ruined it.

The magnets that pulled George and I together, repelled, and we backed away from one another, unsure of what to do or say.

"What're you doing?!" Fred scolded Lee. "Ignore him, you two! Get back in there, Georgie!"

George and I laughed at Fred's theatrical arm waving, and he moved in close to me again, but to whisper something.

"Maybe we should talk about this when we're not so . . ." He gestured to the bottles of Firewhisky.

"Okay," I said.

"Talk about _us_ , I mean," he corrected.

I felt a wide grin spread across my face as I repeated, "Okay."

Unfortunately, this proved to be a rather difficult task. We'd hoped to discuss it during our Potions class the next day, but there really wasn't much time considering Snape had everyone brewing two potions during that lesson. Later that night was also out because I'd booked the pitch for Quidditch practice, which went on longer than intended due to a few unwanted guests. More athletic managers and agents had shown up and were all dying to get five minutes with me to tell me why I should join their team or become their client.

Things didn't get easier as the week progressed, George and I always somehow missing each other. By Thursday, we still hadn't spoken, and I'd become rather distracted during another lesson with Kleio, plus it was also my birthday. I know, what a way to celebrate . . .

"Your pilgrimage is a year away," she sternly reminded. "and you have not yet even mastered reading minds!"

"I'm nearly there!" I insisted, tending to a minor nosebleed.

Kleio gave a frustrated groan before disapprovingly saying, "Kai den nomízo óti den écho paratirísei óti échete piei." _**(Do not think I have not noticed you have been drinking)**_

I looked over to a preoccupied Dumbledore, hoping he didn't secretly understand Greek.

"Aftó synévi prin apó tésseris iméres," I reasoned. _**(That was four days ago)**_

 __"Den échei simasía," she dismissed. _ **(It doesn't matter)**_ "Óti i zestasiá pou aisthanthíkate? Paraménei mazí mas gia megalýtero chronikó diástima — I stigmí pou tha perpatísei mésa, íxera," _**(The warmth you felt? It remains with us for longer. The moment you walked in, I knew)**_ "It is no wonder you are so distracted."

"Sorry," I said quietly, "I didn't know."

"Den boreíte na to kánete aftó katá ti diárkeia tis ekpaideftikís diadikasías," she told me strictly. _**(You cannot do that during the training process)**_

"Aftó den tha symveí xaná," I assured her. _**(It will not happen again)**_

 __Kleio only continued to stare at me with an expression of disbelief. "Mhmm," she grunted. "Well, there is not mutz more I can teatz you tonight — you will not sow mutz improvement. We will meet again on Wednesday."

I only nodded in reply, as I was rather disappointed in myself. But I was also disappointed that Kleio wasn't very understanding or forgiving. I wasn't sure what she'd been expecting from me. Had all other Lumens she taught shown more progress than me? Was I really moving along that slowly? And I expected some sort of slack to be cut considering I didn't have anyone to tell me all of the little rules, like no drinking, or how to open the locket in the first place. I supposed the only silver lining to all of this was that it turned out not to be George who was distracting me after all.

"Who is George?" came Kleio's voice from across the office, her tone showing no real interest. I was at the door, just about to leave.

"D'you always read my thoughts?" I asked, irritated, not turning around.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "How else would I know you are agapoún methysménos?"

I only recognized one of the words to mean love. It wasn't until I'd returned to my dormitory and searched for the other that I was able to piece it together: love drunk. I gave a laugh and closed the book, dropping onto my four-poster.

There was no way I loved George, at least not yet . . . but I would . . . wouldn't I? Should we have been waiting for me to fall in love with him? Would it be all right to date when his feelings for me were so much stronger?

"You can't be in here!" I heard a bird shout from down in the common room. But before I could investigate, I found Finn walking through the dormitory door.

"You didn't even knock," I said, chuckling lightly.

"I know," said Finn casually, "I was hoping to catch you changing."

"Ew, Finnick," I said, although I couldn't help laughing at his joke. "What's up?"

From behind his back, he pulled out a bouquet of yellow roses with red tips.

"Special delivery for Hurricane Harris."

I made my way over and Finn quickly handed me the attached card before I could say anything.

 _Tri_ —

 _Happy birthday! I know this isn't as great as the necklace, but these flowers have meaning too. This color symbolizes friendship and falling in love, because from the moment I met you, even before I knew your name, I knew you were someone who_ — _You know what? I'll let HIM tell you. Look up._

When I looked up from the card, I was surprised to find George standing in front of me, Finn having moved soundlessly to the side. I laughed, unable to stop smiling, as George looked between Finn and the door.

"Right, sorry, mate," he said, placing the roses down and leaving.

"George," I said just as he was about to speak, "you don't have to give me some big speech on how much you care about me and how much I mean to you. I already know — you haven't exactly been subtle about it."

He grinned and released a breath of laughter.

"But I've never told you how _I_ feel," I continued sincerely, "and I reckon it's about time I did. From the moment I met _you_ . . . there was something there — I'd be an idiot to deny that. We became friends instantly, but there was something so special about what we had — er, what we _have_. . . Sometimes, you drive me up the bloody wall, but I s'pose I wouldn't let it happen again and again if I didn't feel something for you . . . something more than just liking you —" I couldn't bring myself to say that I loved him, because it seemed crazy. I'd only just realized I even had feelings for him. "— I dunno exactly what it is yet, but . . . I don't let just anyone call me Tri."

But George did not appear at all disappointed. It was quite the opposite actually — he was grinning from ear to ear, and I practically breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped closer to me and closed the space left in between us.

"You're not disappointed that I didn't say . . . ?" I allowed my tone to trail off, because I was fairly certain he knew what I was referring to.

"Does this answer your question?" he said with a cheeky grin before wrapping me up in another kiss, equally as passionate as the one we shared just a few days ago. I hadn't realized how much I missed kissing him until now.

"Actually no, not really," I teased when we pulled apart.

But just as George had leaned in to kiss me again, we were interrupted. I thought it was Finn coming in to celebrate, but this intruder was not at all pleased by what she found with her bulging toad-like eyes.


	21. Chapter 20: Dark and Light

_**Chapter Twenty**_

 _Dark and Light_

:.:.:

As it turned out, that bird who'd squawked at who I thought was Finn but ended up being George, was Pansy. I should've recognized the sound resembling screeching cats being tossed against a wall. Anyway, she'd gone and tattled on George for being in the Slytherin common room and now he had a week's worth of detentions with that foul toad.

"I'm sorry, George," I said for the umpteenth time the following Monday during our Potions class.

"Dem, you didn't do anything," he insisted softly. "It was my fault — I could've just met you outside your common room."

"You don't know what she does to students during detention," I said solemnly.

"I do," he darkly told me. "Lee landed himself a few detentions with her a while back. I'll be fine, love — it was worth it."

I looked down at the back of my right hand where the words ' _I must not tell lies_ ' remained scarred in red, and couldn't help but disagree. I could only imagine what his scar would soon read . . . by the end of the day, I no longer had to wonder, however. I snuck into the Gryffindor common room along with the crowd after dinner and kept Harry's Invisibility Cloak at the ready just in case any Gryffindors decided to rat me out as Pansy had done to George. And speaking of Harry, he had another week's worth of detentions as well.

Hermione filled me in on everything: how she'd arranged for Harry to give Rita Skeeter an interview during the last Hogsmeade trip, and have it published by _The Quibbler_ , which Luna Lovegood's father was the editor of. The article gave the real story of what happened the night Voldemort returned, and when Umbridge found out, she was furious with Harry for "telling more lies" and gave him more detentions, in addition to instituting Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven: Any student found in possession of the magazine _The Quibbler_ will be expelled.

I knew how late it would be before George and Harry finally returned from their detention, and so Fred, Ron, and Hermione all stayed up with me while we waited. I was laying across the scarlet sofa, feet over Fred, and underneath the Invisibility Cloak in case I fell asleep and someone came in. It was well after midnight when the portrait hole opened and the two of them stepped through, George looking absolutely livid.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, immediately sitting upright and pushing the cloak off.

When George noticed me, he tried to calm himself.

"Nothing, just — it hurts," he lamely fibbed; Fred and I weren't having it.

"Come here, both of you," said Hermione, with Murtlap Essence at the ready for them to soak their cuts. I noticed George's was nearly as bad as Harry's even after only one night.

"What'd she make you write?" Fred inquired.

"'I must not sneak into other common rooms,'" said George, quickly dunking his hand under the water and sort of covering it with his other hand. Harry wasn't looking at anyone. Something wasn't right.

"George," I said softly, moving closer to him.

"I'm fine, Dem, honest," he insisted.

But he didn't fight me when I gently reached for his injured hand. There on the back of his hand, fresh and bleeding, sat the words, _I must not snog whores_.

Everyone else saw too and displayed varying reactions of both shock, anger, and disgust. I, myself, wasn't sure how to react, and George began speaking immediately.

"She said, 'any young lady who invites you up to her bedroom before marriage is not a lady,'" recalled George with disgust. He was becoming angry again. "'She is a whore.' She kept saying it was your fault, Tri, that you bloody well lured me up there. And when she told me what to write, I told her to piss off —"

"That a boy, Georgie," said Fred heartily, face twisted up in repulsion. Even Hermione didn't scold him for encouraging his defiance.

"— she gave me extra lines for that, but told me if I refused, she'd give you a fitting branding of your own," he said darkly.

No one said anything for a moment, until Hermione spoke up, though rather quietly.

"The Scarlet Letter."

We all looked to her, and Ron asked, "What?"

"Er, it's a piece of Muggle literature, but it's rather popular," she explained sheepishly. "It's about a woman found guilty of adultery and is required to wear a scarlet 'A' to shame herself — At least, that's what I _think_ Umbridge was referring to."

"I dunno, but I wasn't letting her anywhere near you with that quill again," said George gravely.

"Still think it was worth it?" I asked him, eyeing the words on his hand.

He paused in thought for a moment before replying with unwavering confidence, "Yeah I do, because it doesn't matter what she does — she won't win."

I saw the fire in his blue eyes, and I nodded. He was right, and it was time to really start fighting back.

"Hermione," I said, catching her off-guard with how determined my tone now was, "I reckon I have something to teach the D.A."

Everyone perked up, interested.

"What is it?" she fervently asked.

"Something incredibly dangerous," I said warningly.

"I think they're ready," Harry insisted.

"It's Dark magic," I admitted.

Harry's confident expression faltered a bit at that, but it was surprisingly Hermione who said, "Let's give it a try."

And so, at the next D.A. meeting, we did. Once everyone had arrived in the Room of Requirement, Harry began speaking.

"Evening, everyone," he said, and nearly everyone returned the greeting before he continued, "Glad you all could make it again. Tonight, Demetria has something she'd like to teach us."

All eyes were curiously on me as Harry stepped aside and I moved forward.

"This is far more advanced than anything we've done so far, and it is certainly the most dangerous," I said gravely, and did not appreciate some of the excited looks I was receiving. "I know it sounds great, but I need you all to take this very seriously. That being said, not everyone must participate. If you do not feel comfortable performing this —"

"Why wouldn't we be comfortable?" Zacharias Smith immediately spoke up.

"Maybe if you let her finish, you'll find out," snapped George impatiently.

"Something from Durmstrang, is it?" Zacharias persisted in a rather judging tone. "Dark magic, I bet."

"Well, at Durmstrang — er — they don't teach you to actually _use_ Dark magic," Hermione defended uneasily. "Demetria simply learned _about_ it and —"

"It's okay, 'Moine," I insisted before addressing the group again. "Yes, it is Dark magic, but I am not going to lie to you about where I learned it. Before I tell you, though, I would just like to reiterate that no one _has_ to do this, and you're all free to leave if you'd like. I also understand if you simply do not want to be taught by me."

I noticed I was receiving some rather confused looks now, and couldn't believe no one knew what I was about to say.

"I was raised with the intention of becoming a Death Eater," I confessed, and though there were some wide eyes, it was a much milder reaction than I'd been expecting and I was thankful for that. "When you're a Pure-blood, that's sort of a difficult fate to escape — but somehow, I managed to do it. Before I did, however, I learned a spell from . . . Antonin Dolohov," — _now_ the reactions were much more shocked and horrified — "I believe it's something he created . . . and as I said, no one has to learn it if they don't want — in fact, I'm really just sort of suggesting it. We can practice something else if no one's interested."

"I'm interested," Hermione said straight away.

"Me too," said Finn.

When other people began voicing their agreement, Hermione called for a vote and nearly everyone's hands were up.

"Your family's killed innocent people, then?" said Zacharias darkly, in the middle of the vote.

"No," I said at once. "The only Harris Death Eaters were my father, who joined to save my life and died shortly after, and my grandfather, who joined for the same reason, but has never killed or tortured anyone."

That caused the remainder of the hands to shoot up, including Zacharias's.

"All right then," I said, actually sort of surprised by the response, "since this spell is so dangerous, not everyone is going to be able to practice it at once — it just isn't safe. Also, we will be using the test dummies, _not_ one another," — as I spoke, three test dummies appeared out of thin air, lined up across the room and spaced out a large amount — "There is to be absolutely no joking around. If it is not your turn to practice, silently observe. Any funny business, and you could be facing very severe internal injuries —"

"Aw, but that's our favorite kind of business," whined Fred quietly; George chuckled a bit.

"I mean it, you two," I said, startling them, as I appeared behind them.

"Dem, you're so sexy when you take charge," George whispered to me seductively.

I rolled my eyes and ignored the shiver it sent down my spine, moving back to the front of the group.

"You will make a slashing movement with your wands, like so" — I showed them — "and say the following incantation: _Occidere Ferio!_ " I indicated for them to repeat it.

" _Occidere Ferio!_ " everyone parroted.

"It literally means 'kill strike,' so careful aiming," I advised. "Let's set up three lines behind each dummy. If you're not waiting, you may move closer, otherwise, keep your distance."

Everyone obeyed, even Harry. It was sort of odd to be the one giving directions to him, but it was also rather . . . I dunno, empowering, I s'pose.

"On my count!" I said to the first group which consisted of Harry, Finn, and Ginny. "One — two — three —"

" _Occidere Ferio!_ " chorused the three of them.

From each of their wands, flew a streak of purple flame, all of which hit the dummies. Harry caused his to explode, while Finn and Ginny's dummies merely retained slashes across their cloth, stuffed bodies.

"Nicely done, all of you!" I congratulated. "The explosion represents what happens when the spell is cast to the fullest of its abilities —"

"The person _explodes_?" said Parvati, astounded.

"No, it causes internal damage and the person dies," I explained, "but since a dummy wouldn't exactly be able to show that, I Charmed them to explode, that way you can tell if you've done it — Also, it's more fun that way."

I continued to direct the lesson, and was rather impressed at how well everyone was doing. Not everyone made their dummies explode, and some were having trouble just making a slash, but that was to be expected when dealing with such advanced Dark magic. I was just glad that by the end of the lesson, nothing had gone horribly wrong. Every human being's insides remained perfectly intact, though the same could not be said for the dummies.

On the subject of things falling apart . . .

"No!" shrieked Trelawney in the entrance hall one night. "NO! This cannot be happening . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!"

It was right in the middle of dinner, but every student had gathered around the commotion. Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her numerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down due to the fact that Umbridge had thrown it down the stairs.

"You didn't realize this was coming?" said Umbridge herself, sounding callously amused. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"

"You c-can't!" howled Trelawney, tears streaming down her face, "you c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It _was_ your home," said Umbridge, enjoyment stretching across her toadlike face, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

And though I'd never exactly been a fan of Trelawney, I despised Umbridge even more for doing this to her. McGonagall, who'd also voiced her indifference toward Trelawney, appeared then and was, naturally, on the side against Umbridge.

"There, there, Sybill . . . Calm down . . . Blow your nose on this . . . It's not as bad as you think, now . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts . . ."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice. "And your authority for that statement is . . . ?"

"That would be mine," said a deep voice.

Students moved aside and out of the way of Dumbledore, who stepped through looking like a hero. He strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, McGonagall alongside her.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here" — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

But Dumbledore continued to smile, looking down at Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."

At this, Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.

"No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —"

"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill."

He turned to McGonagall.

"Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," she said. "Up you get, Sybill . . ."

Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, " _Locomotor trunks!_ " and Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.

Umbridge was standing shock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

"And what," she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and she will prefer her own lodgings."

"Her own — She's going to travel in every day?" said Umbridge shrilly. "And what do you mean you've found — _You've_ found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two —"

"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

He turned to the spot he'd appeared from, and I noticed students rushing to make way once again. Standing in the middle of the circle beside Dumbledore now, was a tall, elderly woman, clad in dark floral-patterned robes and a burnt orange scarf wrapping up her long, unruly silver hair. Sound familiar?

"Dem, isn't that — ?"

"Yep," I said blankly, cutting Fred off.

"This is Kleio Alexakis," said Dumbledore happily to Umbridge, who was still rather shocked. "I think you'll find her suitable."

–

"How could Dumbledore possibly think _Kleio_ would be a suitable teacher?" I said in disbelief. It was breakfast time a few days after the sacking of Trelawney, and I was _still_ beside myself.

"She teaches _you_ ," Finn reminded me with a chuckle.

"Exactly my point," I said fervently. "She's not very good! Well — No, I mean she knows a lot but — she's so rough! She's not very patient or understanding . . . She's not someone you want as your teacher!"

"Well you don't even have to take Divination with her," he said, still amused by my outburst.

But to be honest, I sort of wanted to. I wondered if she would've changed her methods, if it was just me she was hard on when teaching. And sure, I could've simply asked Finn after he had class with her, but I decided to see for myself. So during Potions that day, I used a Nosebleed Nougat to help fake my typical Lumen-related emergency, and Snape immediately dismissed me to the hospital wing. I didn't eat the purple half to heal myself right away. Instead I held a handkerchief to my nose and headed for the Divination classroom.

It was odd how well Kleio seemed to fit in with Trelawney's set-up — Odd, and rather disturbing . . . Plus, they did sort of dress alike . . . I wasn't sure which of them would be considered the lesser of two evils, however, being that there were obviously things about each of them which I couldn't stand.

"So you're not even a Seer?" asked Lavender in a lofty tone. I'd forgotten that she and Parvati loved Trelawney, and were clearly not pleased with the switch. I was also rather excited to see how Kleio would handle those two miserable birds.

"One does not have to be a Seer in order to teach Divination, tzild," said Kleio impatiently, before catching sight of me popping through the trap door. "Ah, Demetria, I was told you do not take this class."

"I don't — just needed to get away," I said, gesturing to the bloody handkerchief.

"Fysiká to kánate," she said, clearly not believing it, but moving on nevertheless. _**(Of course you did)**_ "Have a seat," she gestured for me to sit in the chair behind her desk, which I did, as she stood in front of it. "As I was saying, Professor Dumbledore has told me you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy, and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Lumens — since we are so in-tune with the Greek mythology — often rely on the night sky for answers about the future . . ."

Kleio then waved her wand and transformed the ceiling above into one that resembled the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, except instead of showing the sky outside, it was a dark canvas with thousands of tiny, glittering stars.

"Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!" said Parvati, trying her best to sound unimpressed even though Kleio just pulled a night sky out of thin air.

"Did she?" said Kleio listlessly. "Go on then — impress me."

"Er — well, Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that," Parvati began nervously, "and when it makes an angle to Saturn, er, like now" — she drew a right angle in the air above her — "that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things —"

Kleio gave a full laugh at this, and I had to refrain from doing the same. It was rather entertaining to watch her act this way toward someone other than me.

"That is dzust human nonsense," she dismissed.

"But aren't you — ?" Parvati began cautiously.

"Perhaps," said Kleio, and the confused expressions she received for that only amused me even more. "There is mutz debate over this. I prefer to think Lumens are our own category — Demetria?"

Truthfully, I'd never really given it much thought, but I said, "I agree" because it made sense to me now that I _was_ thinking about it — maybe even just a sub-category of humans.

"Now then —"

But Kleio was interrupted by Dean Thomas.

"Are you two related?"

"No," she said promptly. " _Now_ , the art of studying the stars in order to predict the future was already very advanced before we came along — it started with the ancient Egyptians and Mesopotamians. We, the Greeks, added logical thinking and geometry, and then we — the Lumens — added our own observasons. For example Mars, bringer of battle, sines brightly above us. This tells us that a fight will break out soon — Fitting, as Wizard-kind is currently in the calm between two wars."

I was actually sort of disappointed I wasn't taking Divination now, until Kleio gave everyone something to practice and grew impatient with the students again. That was when I finally ate the purple half of the Nosebleed Nougat, healed up my nose, and took my exit. It was just moments before the bell sounded, though, so I didn't have to return to Potions. Kleio called out to me just as everyone was packing up to leave.

"Demetria, we will be meeting in here for our lesson tonight," she said, clearing away the enchanted night sky with another wave of her wand. "Six o'clock, do not keep me waiting."

"I never do, _Professor_ ," I said in jest.

"Ugh, please," she groaned, "to you, I am Kleio. I cannot be bothered with this Professor malakíes." _**(bullshit)**_

I was glad she felt that way, because just hearing other students refer to her as Professor Alexakis was strange enough.

The remainder of my lessons passed by in a bit of a dull blur and soon, I found myself back in the dim, crimson-lit attic that was the Divination classroom.

"I trust there has been no drinking," she said dubiously.

"I thought you could tell?" I challenged.

Much to my surprise, Kleio actually gave a hint of a grin. She then said, "We will be taking a break from mind reading tonight — focus on the first stage of controlling Light."

"All right," I said determinedly.

"You do not wear the gloves?" she inquired, noticing my bare hands.

"I keep them with me in case," I explained, "but I don't really need them anymore."

"There have been no . . . incidents?" she carefully pressed.

"No, it's been great," I said brightly. Kleio, on the other hand, looked as though it wasn't so great.

"Hmm. . ." She appeared deep in thought now, mumbling something to herself in Greek which I couldn't quite hear well enough to translate. Finally, she spoke to me.

"The incantation is _Fos_ ," she said slowly, still in thought.

" _Fos_ ," I repeated, knowing that it meant light.

"When you begin, it is something you think about before —" But she seemed to change her mind, instead telling me, "Let us just see what happens."

I didn't really know what to do, but it was clear Kleio wasn't going to give me any instructions. She distanced herself from me, standing on the opposite side of the room, and braced herself. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on my Light while thinking _Fos_ , as I wasn't sure what else to try. Instantly, though, I felt it surging throughout my hands, and pushed my palms outward. The usual blast of white Light issued from them and knocked Kleio right off her feet.

"Sorry!" I said quickly, but Kleio ignored my apology and rushed over to me as soon as she was back on her feet.

"What did you do?" she urgently asked.

"I thought you wanted me to —"

"I did," she insisted, tone still crucial, "but what exactly did you _do_?"

"I just — er — thought about my Light and, y'know, thought _Fos_ . . ." I said uneasily. "Did I do something wrong?"

But Kleio ignored my question and asked one of her own: "Have you been practicing this?"

"No," I said simply.

"My tzild," she began in amazement, "you have more control over your Light then I have ever seen in a Néo Aíma . . ." _**(New Blood)**_

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" I asked.

"Certainly," she said, still rather impressed (an expression I never thought I would receive from her), "espesally for me — this is always the hardest part to teatz."


	22. Chapter 21: The Sneak

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

 _The Sneak_

:.:.:

February was over just as quickly as January, and soon March had blurred into April. Even though I was seeing more of Kleio than ever around the castle, it was not because of our lessons. She'd actually cut them back even more than before, insisting that we had plenty of time, and the longer waiting periods in between each lesson would be better for my advanced ability. That's right, she'd actually called my ability _advanced_. I was just glad something finally happened to make her act like she sort of liked me, or at least tolerated me a bit more. It was odd though, because now she was always worried she wouldn't be able to teach me to the fullest of my abilities. She was constantly jamming her nose in books, though she wouldn't allow me to see them, and she was muttering to herself far more than usual, though the only phrase I could detect was something along the lines of: "we'll see when the time comes."

Meanwhile, at the D.A. meetings, we'd finally started working on Patronuses, which everyone had been very keen to practice, though as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor.

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during our last lesson before Easter. "They're so pretty!"

"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," said Harry patiently. "What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor —"

"But that would be really scary!" said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapor out of the end of her wand. "And I still — can't — do it!" she added angrily.

Neville was having trouble too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.

"You've got to think of something really happy," I reminded him, catching sight of Finn's silver German Shepherd bounding around the room.

"I'm trying," he miserably said, his round face actually shining with sweat from trying so hard.

"Oy, I think I'm doing it!" yelled Seamus Finnigan, who had been brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting that evening by Dean. "Look — ah — it's gone . . . But it was definitely something hairy!"

Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gamboling around her.

"They _are_ sort of nice, aren't they?" she said, looking at it fondly.

Suddenly, the door of the Room of Requirement opened and then closed again; Harry and I looked to see who had entered, but there didn't seem to be anyone there. It was a few moments before I noticed Dobby the house-elf had appeared out of no where, near the knee of Harry's robe.

"Hi, Dobby!" he said. "What are you — what's wrong?"

I noticed Dobby's eyes wide with terror and he was shaking. Everyone else began taking notice of this as well, the few Patronuses people had managed to conjure fading away as they gathered to listen.

"Harry Potter, sir . . ." squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, "Harry Potter, sir . . . Dobby has come to warn you . . . but the house-elves have been warned not to tell . . ."

I knew he'd try to punish himself, so when I saw him start to charge at the wall, I immediately seized him.

"Dobby, what's happened?" I asked him.

"Oh, Demetria Harris!" he said sadly. "She . . . she . . ."

He hit himself hard on the nose with the hand I wasn't holding; I seized both arms then.

"Dobby, who's — ?"

But I cut Harry off.

"Umbridge?" I asked, horrified.

Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head off my knees; I held him at bay.

"Dobby, has Umbridge found out about the D.A.?"

The answer was evident on the elf's stricken face.

"Is she coming?" Harry asked quietly.

Dobby let out a howl. "Yes, yes!"

I straightened up and noticed everyone else standing there motionless and terrified.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed. "RUN!"

They all pelted toward the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through.

"C'mon, you too!" said Finn, urging me forward.

We made it through the threshold, but I'd turned back to find Dobby; Harry had carried him out of the room.

"Dobby — this is an order," he said, "— get back down to the kitchen, and if she asks whether you warned us, lie and say no!"

"And we forbid you to hurt yourself!" I quickly added.

"Thank you, Demetria Harris!" squeaked Dobby. "Thank you, Harry Potter!" He streaked off and Harry and I sprinted in different directions. But it wasn't long before I'd collided with someone — Draco.

"Demetria?" he said both with shock and disgust. "I should've known you'd be mixed up in this. Out of my way, I'm after Potter!"

"No!" I shouted, tackling Draco to the ground as he began to take off in the direction Harry had gone.

"Don't make me turn you in too, Demi!" he warned, trying to wriggle out from beneath me. Draco wasn't a very big bloke, but given my small frame, he was getting away.

"Draco?" I heard a high, girlish voice call out from nearby.

Draco, who was nearly free of my grip, turned his face up and around to look at me, with a don't-make-me-do-this sort of look in his grey eyes. And for a split second, I could see the young Draco I'd grown up with, who I'd always defended because he was misunderstood, and because I saw his good side . . . but just as quickly, he vanished.

"Over here, Professor!" he cried out.

I glanced down the corridor and saw Harry had just made it out of sight when Draco crawled out from under me and someone had seized me by my robes and pulled me off the ground.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" said Umbridge, smiling jubilantly. "Excellent, Draco, very good — I, unfortunately, cannot give you House points, you understand, because it would be rewarding Miss Harris as well."

But Draco didn't say a word, and neither did I.

"Where's Harry Potter?" she asked me gravely, but I still remained silent. "No matter, he's bound to be nearby. Draco, find Potter! Tell the others to look in the library — anybody out of breath — check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones — off you go — and you," she added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Draco walked away. "You can come with me to the headmaster's office, Harris."

We were at the stone gargoyle within minutes, and I wondered how many, if any, others had been caught. I knew all four of the Weasley children involved were sure to get an earful from Mrs. Weasley . . . Hermione would be devastated to get expelled before even taking her O.W.L.s . . . it was only Seamus's first meeting . . . and Neville had been getting so good!

"Fizzing Whizbee," said Umbridge, and the stone gargoyle jumped aside, the wall behind split open, and we ascended the moving stone staircase. We reached the polished door with the griffin knocker which Umbridge didn't bother to use, striding right inside, still holding my arm tight.

The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was rocking backward and forward on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation. Kingsley Shacklebolt — who I remembered from some Order meetings at Twelve Grimmauld — and a tough-looking wizard whom I didn't recognize with very short, wiry hair were positioned on either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes. The portraits of old headmasters and mistresses were not shaming sleep tonight. All of them were watching what was happening below, alert and serious.

I pulled myself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind us. Cornelius Fudge turned to face me with vicious satisfaction, although it melted away upon catching my gaze.

"Where is their fearless leader?" he asked Umbridge mockingly.

And though, I was just about to take the fall for all of it and admit that I was the leader, I noticed Dumbledore's curious expression. He was not looking directly at me, but instead at a point just over my shoulder. But as I stared at him, I noticed him shake his head a fraction of an inch to each side, so I kept quiet.

"The Malfoy boy is still looking for Potter," said Umbridge.

"Then I s'pose in the meantime, the runner-up will do," said Fudge, glaring at me with vicious satisfaction. "Well, Harris . . . I expect you know why you are here?"

And again, although I'd been ready to say "yes", I followed Dumbledore's instructions and said, "No."

"I beg your pardon?" said Fudge.

"No," I said firmly.

"You _don't_ know why you are here?"

"No, I don't."

Fudge looked incredulously from me to Umbridge; I took advantage of his momentary inattention to steal another quick glance at Dumbledore, who gave the carpet the tiniest of nods and the shadow of a wink.

"So you have no idea," said Fudge in a voice positively sagging with sarcasm, "why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?"

"Broken school rules?" I parroted. "No."

"Or Ministry decrees?" amended Fudge angrily.

"Not to my knowledge," I said blankly, remaining surprisingly calm.

"So it's news to you, is it," said Fudge, his voice now thick with anger, "that an illegal student organization has been discovered within this school?"

"Yeah, actually," I said, fixing a look of surprise upon my face.

"I think, Minister," said Umbridge silkily from beside him, "we might make better progress if I fetch our informant."

"Yes, yes, do," said Fudge, nodding, and he glanced maliciously at Dumbledore as Umbridge left the room. "There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?"

"Nothing at all, Cornelius," said Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head.

There was a wait of several minutes, in which nobody looked at each other, then I heard the door open behind me. Umbridge moved past me into the room, gripping two people by their shoulders — Harry and Cho's curly-haired friend Marietta Edgecombe, who was hiding her face in her hands.

"Ah, and the Malfoy boy found Potter!" said Fudge, even more pleased. "I must remember to tell Lucius. Potter . . . surely _you_ know why you are here, because it seems your friend here does not . . ."

And I wasn't sure if Harry simply caught on to the fact that I was playing dumb, or maybe Dumbledore sent him a similar secret head shake, but Harry replied with, "I don't, actually."

"No matter," said Umbridge dismissively, turning her attention to Marietta. "Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened, it's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister," she added, looking up at Fudge, "is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation. Floo Network office — she's been helping us police the Hogwarts fires, you know."

"Jolly good, jolly good!" said Fudge heartily. "Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to — galloping gargoyles!"

As Marietta raised her head, Fudge leapt backward in shock, nearly landing himself in the fire. He cursed and stamped on the hem of his cloak, which had started to smoke, and Marietta gave a wail and pulled the neck of her robes right up to her eyes, but not before the whole room had seen that her face was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word "SNEAK."

 _Nicely done, Hermione_ , I thought.

And to think, nearly everyone had been wary about myself and the other Slytherins I brought to the meetings.

"Never mind the spots now, dear," said Umbridge impatiently, "just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister —"

But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically. She deserved every bit of it.

"Oh, very well, you silly girl, _I'll_ tell him," snapped Umbridge. She hitched her sickly smile back onto her face and said, "Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she said something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately at that point this hex," she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, "came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more."

"Well, now," said Fudge, fixing Marietta with what he evidently imagined was a kind and fatherly look. "It is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge, you did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?"

The way they'd been speaking, one would've thought they already knew.

Marietta wouldn't even speak. She simply shook her head again, eyes wide and fearful.

"Haven't we got a counterjinx for this?" Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta's face. "So she can speak freely?"

"I have not yet managed to find one," Umbridge admitted grudgingly. "But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here."

"You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Potter and Harris had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade —"

"And what is your evidence for that?" McGonagall cut in.

"I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired," said Umbridge smuggly. "He heard every word that was said and hastened straight to the school to report to me —"

"Oh, so _that's_ why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets!" said McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "What an interesting insight into our justice system!"

"Blatant corruption!" roared the portrait of the corpulent, red-nosed wizard on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. "The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!"

"Thank you, Fortescue, that will do," said Dumbledore softly.

"The purpose of this meeting," continued Umbridge, "was for Potter to persuade these students to join an illegal society — which Harris agreed to co-lead — whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age —"

"I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores," said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose.

"Oho!" said Fudge, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. "Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter and Harris out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on — Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it each of their identical twins in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life, and a couple of invisible dementors?"

Percy let out a hearty laugh and I refrained from turning and scowling at him.

"Oh, very good, Minister, very good!" he cheered like a good little lapdog.

"Cornelius," said Dumbledore, smiling as well, "I do not deny — and not, I am sure, do Harry and Demetria — that they were in the Hog's Head that day, nor that they were trying to recruit students to a Defense Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after their Hogsmeade meeting, so they were not breaking any rules in the Hog's Head at all."

Percy looked as though he had been struck in the face by something very heavy. Fudge remained motionless in mid-bounce, his mouth hanging open. Both of these sights gave me great pleasure to be witnessing. However, that was over quickly when Umbridge recovered first.

"That's all very fine, Headmaster," she said, smiling sweetly. "But we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are."

"Well," said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, "they certainly _would_ be, if they _had_ continued after the decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that these meetings continued?"

"Evidence?" repeated Umbridge with that horrible wide toadlike smile. "Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?"

"Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings?" said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight."

"Miss Edgecombe," said Umbridge at once, "tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?"

And though I'd been feeling very calm and confident a moment ago, I suddenly felt a horrible plummeting in my stomach. This was it, that rotten traitor was going to back us into a corner that not even Dumbledore could maneuver us out of.

"Just nod or shake your head, dear," Umbridge coaxed. "Come on, now, that won't activate the jinx further . . ."

All of us in the room were gazing at the top of Marietta's face, only her eyes visible between the pulled up robes and her curly mane. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but her eyes looked oddly blank — something I remembered seeing before . . . Someone in the room had placed a Memory Charm on Marietta, and she shook her head.

"I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear?" said Umbridge. "I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?"

Again, Marietta shook her head.

"What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?" said Umbridge in a testy voice.

"I would have thought her meaning was quite clear," said McGonagall harshly. "There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?"

Marietta nodded.

"But there was a meeting tonight!" said Umbridge furiously. "There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, he and Harris were both leaders — _why are you shaking your head, girl?_ "

As much as I wanted to give a cheeky response, I thought it would be better to remain quiet. Besides, McGonagall beat me to it.

"Well, usually when a person shakes their head, they mean 'no.' So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign language as yet unknown to humans —"

Umbridge seized Marietta, pulled her around to face her, and began shaking her very hard. A split second later Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised. Kingsley started forward and Umbridge leapt back from Marietta, waving her hands in the air as though they had been burned.

"I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores," said Dumbledore, and for the first time, he looked angry.

"You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge," said Kingsley in his deep, slow voice. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble now."

"No," said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. "I mean, yes — you're right, Shacklebolt — I — I forgot myself."

Marietta was standing exactly where Umbridge had released her, unperturbed by Umbridge's attack, still clutching her robe up to her blank eyes, staring straight ahead of her.

"Dolores," said Fudge, with the air of trying to settle something once and for all, "the meeting tonight — the one we know definitely happened —"

"Yes," said Umbridge, pulling herself together, "yes . . . well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain _trustworthy_ students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind . . . We needed evidence and the room provided . . ."

That sinking feeling had returned as I watched Umbridge withdraw from her pocket the list of names that had been pinned upon the Room of Requirement's wall and hand it to Fudge.

"The moment I saw Potter and Harris's names on the list, I knew what we were dealing with," she said softly.

"Excellent," said Fudge, a smile spreading across his face. "Excellent, Dolores. And . . . by thunder . . ."

He looked up at Dumbledore, who was still standing beside Marietta, his wand held loosely in his hand.

"See what they've named themselves?" said Fudge quietly. " _Dumbledore's Army_."

I stood corrected: _this_ was it. I'd ran back to check on Dobby, I should've seen the parchment and grabbed it. Dammit, we should've just been the Anti-Umbridge League!

Dumbledore reached out and took the piece of parchment from Fudge. He gazed at the heading scribbled by Hermione months before and for a moment seemed unable to speak. Then he looked up, smiling.

"Well, the game is up," he said simply. "Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius — or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?"

McGonagall and Kingsley looked at each other with fear in their faces.

"Statement?" said Fudge slowly. "What — I don't — ?"

"Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, still smiling as he waved the list of names before Fudge's face. "Not Potter's Army — not Harris's Army. _Dumbledore's Army_."

"But — but —"

Understanding blazed suddenly in Fudge's face. He took a horrified step backward, yelped, and jumped out of the fire again, believing his worst fear had come true.

"You?" he whispered.

"That's right," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

"You organized this?"

"I did," said Dumbledore.

"You recruited these students for — for your army?"

"Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course."

Marietta nodded. Fudge looked from her to Dumbledore, his chest swelling.

"Then you _have_ been plotting against me!" he yelled.

"That's right," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"NO!" Harry and I shouted at once; I knew Harry felt the same way I did — we'd rather take the blame than have Dumbledore fall on his sword for us, but Kingsley flashed us a look of warning and McGonagall widened her eyes threateningly. I realized what was about to happen . . . as did Harry . . .

"No — Professor Dumbledore!" he shouted.

"Be quiet, Harry, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Yes, shut up, Potter!" barked Fudge, who was still ogling Dumbledore with a kind of horrified delight. "Well, well, well — I came here tonight expecting to expel Potter and Harris, and instead —"

"Instead you get to arrest me," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?"

"Weasley!" cried Fudge, now positively quivering with delight, "Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir!" said the lapdog resembling Percy, eagerly.

"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilize me?"

"Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!" said Percy, scanning his notes joyfully.

"Very well, then," said Fudge, now radiant with glee. "Duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the _Daily Prophet_ at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!" Percy dashed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. "You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged and then sent to Azkaban to await trial!"

"Ah," said Dumbledore gently, "yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag."

"Snag?" said Fudge, his voice still vibrating with joy. "I see no snag, Dumbledore!"

"Well," Dumbledore said apologetically, "I'm afraid I do."

I knew it — he still had a trick or two up his sleeve.

"Oh really?" said Fudge.

"Well — it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to — what is the phrase? 'Come quietly.' I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course — but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing."

Umbridge's face was growing steadily redder, she looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he'd just been stunned by a sudden blow and couldn't quite believe it had happened. He made a small choking noise and then looked around at Kingsley and the man with the short grey hair, who alone of everyone in the room had remained entirely silent so far. The latter gave Fudge a reassuring nod and moved forward a little, away from the wall. I saw his hand drift, almost casually, toward his pocket.

"Don't be silly, Dawlish," said Dumbledore kindly. "I'm sure you are an excellent Auror, I seem to remember that you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your N.E.W.T.s, but if you attempt to — er — 'bring me in' by force, I will have to hurt you."

The man called Dawlish blinked, looking rather foolish. He glanced toward Fudge again, but this time seemed to be hoping for a clue as to what to do next.

"So," sneered Fudge, recovering himself, "you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores, and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?"

"Merlin's beard, no," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to."

"He will not be single-handed!" said McGonagall loudly, plunging her hand inside her robes.

"Oh yes he will, Minerva!" said Dumbledore sharply. "Hogwarts needs you!"

"Enough of this rubbish!" Fudge said, pulling out his own wand. "Dawlish! Shacklebolt! _Take him!_ "

A streak of silver light flashed around the room. There was a bang like a gunshot, and the floor trembled. I felt a hand grab my shoulder and force me down on the floor as a second silver flash went off — several of the portraits yelled, Fawkes screeched, and a cloud of dust filled the air. Coughing in the dust, I saw a dark figure fall to the ground with a crash in front of me. There was a shriek and a thud and somebody cried, "No!" Then the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, a groan — and silence.

I managed to see McGonagall crouched beside me, having forced Harry, Marietta, and I out of harm's way. Dust was still floating gently down through the air onto us, and I saw a very tall figure moving toward us.

"Are you all right?" said Dumbledore.

"Yes!" McGonagall said, getting up and dragging the three of us with her.

The dust was clearing, the wreckage of the office looming into view: Dumbledore's desk had been overturned, all of the spindly tables had been knocked to the floor, their silver instruments in pieces. Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley, and Dawlish lay motionless on the floor. Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly.

"Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious," said Dumbledore in a low voice. "He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way — thank him for me, won't you, Minerva?

"Now, they will all wake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate — you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember —"

"Where will you go, Dumbledore?" whispered McGonagall. "Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh no," said Dumbledore with a grim smile. "I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you . . ."

"Professor Dumbledore . . ." Harry began, although he seemed unsure of what to say next.

"Listen to me, Harry," Dumbledore said urgently, "you must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams — Demetria —"

Dawlish was stirring.

"— I'm afraid there is no time — continue your lessons with Kleio, and I will explain everything to you as soon as I am able — Harry, remember to close your mind — you will both understand."

Fawkes circled the office and swooped low over him, Dumbledore then raising his hand and grasping the phoenix's long golden tail. There was a flash of fire and the pair of them had gone.

"Where is he?" yelled Fudge, pushing himself up from the ground. " _Where is he?_ "

"I don't know!" shouted Kingsley, also leaping to his feet.

"Well, he can't have Disapparated!" cried Umbridge. "You can't inside this school —"

"The stairs!" cried Dawlish, and he flung himself upon the door, wrenched it open, and disappeared, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge. Fudge hesitated, then got to his feet slowly, brushing dust from his front. There was a long and painful silence.

"Well, Minerva," said Fudge nastily, straightening his torn shirtsleeve, "I'm afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore."

"You think so, do you?" said McGonagall scornfully.

Fudge seemed to not hear her, looking around at the wrecked office. A few of the portraits hissed at him; one or two even made rude hand gestures.

"You'd better get those three off to bed," said Fudge, looking back at McGonagall with a dismissive nod toward Harry, Marietta, and I.

She said nothing, but marched the three of us to the door. As it swung closed behind us, I heard Phineas Nigellus's voice.

"You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts . . . but you cannot deny he's got style . . ."

–

— **BY ORDER OF —**

 **The Ministry of Magic**

 **Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus**

 **Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft**

 **and Wizardry.**

 _ **The above is in accordance with**_

 _ **Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.**_

 __ **Signed:**

 _Cornelius Oswald Fudge_

 **MINISTER OF MAGIC**

The notices had gone up all over school overnight, but they didn't explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape. It was actually sort of surprising how accurate everyone's information was, and it was all anyone seemed to be able to talk about. Well, that and the Inquisitorial Squad — a group of students that actually supported the Ministry, handpicked by the miserable toad herself. Apparently, they were given the power to dock students of House points, and since the group consisted of people like Draco, they were abusing their power.

"Granger, I'll have five points from you for being rude about our new headmistress . . ." I overheard Draco on the way back from Herbology, "Macmillan, five for contradicting me . . . Five because I don't like you, Potter . . . Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that . . . Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that . . ."

I saw Ron pull out his wand, but Hermione stopped him. I, on the other hand, didn't have anyone stopping me (except Finn, but he wasn't making any moves), so I cast the Jelly-Legs Jinx on Draco, causing his legs to collapse from under him. He landed face first in a puddle of mud.

"Ooh, tough luck, Malfoy," I said with a smirk; everyone was laughing at him, except for Crabbe and Goyle who were helping him to his feet.

"You'd seriously better watch yourself, Harris," he said menacingly. "I'll tell Umbridge and —"

"— and what?" I challenged. "Dock fifty points from my House, which also happens to be _your_ House?"

Unable to devise a retort, Draco walked off in a huff, his cronies trailing behind.

"That was brilliant," said Ron heartily.

"Yeah, it was," Ernie agreed before looking a bit more worried, "but I mean . . . he had to have been bluffing, right? He can't be allowed to dock points . . . that would be ridiculous . . . It would completely undermine the prefect system . . ."

But we'd all turned automatically toward the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind us, which recorded the House points. Slytherin and Gryffindor had been neck and neck in the lead that morning, but even as we watched, stones flew upward, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs of all the hourglasses except for the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.

"Noticed, have you?" said Fred, he and George coming down the marble staircase. "Must feel pretty good to be a snake right now, you two."

"Yeah, you're practically untouchable," George said, before placing an arm around my waist and whispering to me, "Well except by me, of course."

I smirked up at him.

"Malfoy just docked the four of us about fifty points," said Harry furiously, gesturing to himself, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George.

" _Tried_?" Finn parroted curiously.

"He never managed to get all the words out," said Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."

Hermione looked very shocked.

"But you'll get into terrible trouble!"

"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," said Fred coolly.

"You made one of my Chasers disappear?" I said, though not actually angry. I was rather amused, especially since it was Montague — someone I couldn't very well stand.

"We don't even need him, Dem," Finn insisted. "We could beat Hufflepuff even if you were our _only_ Chaser."

"Or your only player," said Ron sort of bitterly.

"Anyway," said Fred, "we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."

"Have you ever?" asked Hermione.

"'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?"

"We've always known where to draw the line," said Fred.

"We might have put a toe across it occasionally."

"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem."

"But now?" said Ron tentatively.

"Well, now —" said George.

"— what with Dumbledore gone —" said Fred.

"— we reckon a bit of mayhem —"

"— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," Fred finished.

"You mustn't!" whispered Hermione. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"

"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" said Fred, smiling at her. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway," he checked his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it."

"Anything to do with what?" said Hermione anxiously.

"You'll see," said George. "Run along, now."

Ernie was the first one to leave, and the Golden Trio left soon after, but I stayed with the twins.

"I take it you two'll be leaving soon, then?" I asked.

Finn and Fred took that as a cue to leave.

"We've mentioned it to you tons of times," George defended.

"No, I know, but — I dunno, I guess I thought maybe you'd change your minds," I admitted.

"Well we're not going anywhere right this minute," he offered me the silver lining before bringing in the storm cloud and saying, "Probably within the week, though . . ."

"Because there's nothing worth staying for?" I said with a sad smile, caught between making a joke and sort of believing it.

"Come on, Tri," he said softly, "you know I think you're worth it."

I couldn't help but glance at the back of his right hand, but he noticed and moved it so it was holding the side of my face. And I did believe him, I knew it was true, but I also knew that with Dumbledore gone, Umbridge in charge, and their business ready, it didn't make sense for him to stay. Hell, I was thinking about leaving too.

"I know," I told him earnestly.

"Y'know, I wasn't going to leave until I made you my girlfriend," he said with a genuine, lopsided grin. "I told Fred that from the beginning."

" _Am_ I your girlfriend?" I teased. "I don't recall you ever really asking me . . ."

"No?" he said in jest as well. "And it's been what, two months? Hm, I reckon I'm just holding out for Millicent Bulstrode."

He chuckled as I slapped his arm good-naturedly.

I'd never even realized he didn't officially ask me, because I suppose it just didn't matter. I knew that he loved me and we were finally together — that was all I cared about.

"All right, well, let's just get a few things squared away before I leave, then," said George, pretending to have a list in his hand. "You're my girlfriend, right?"

"Yes," I told him, smiling . . . but I found myself wanting to say more . . .

 _Am I mental?_ I thought. _It seems rather soon . . ._

He used his air quill to check that off the pretend list.

"You know I would love to stay here with you under different circumstances, right?"

"Yes," I said, still smiling at him . . .

 _It wasn't this soon with Cedric. Then again, nothing about this is anything like what I had with Cedric . . ._

He made another checking motion on his imaginary parchment.

"You're going to owl me with absolutely anything and everything, right?"

"Yes."

 _You've always felt something for George, and you know it. This has been a long time coming . . ._

"Georgie!" Fred called over to us. "Nearly time, mate!"

"Right-o!" he said before planting a quick kiss on my forehead. "You might want to clear the area, love! I'll see you later, all right?"

"All right!" I said, and watched them run off, back up the marble staircase. I, myself, moved into the Great Hall where everyone else was enjoying lunch. But the moment I sat down to do the same, something else caught my attention.

 _BOOM!_

Well, it caught everyone's attention, actually, as we all raced to see what the commotion was.

Somebody (absolutely _no_ idea who it could've been) appeared to have set off an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks. Dragons comprised entirely of green-and-gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers were writing swearwords in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer I watched.

Umbridge and Filch, the incredibly creepy caretaker, were standing, apparently transfixed with horror, halfway down the stairs. I watched as one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to maneuver; it whirled toward Umbridge and Filch with a sinister _wheeeeee_. Both adults yelled with fright, ducked, and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape toward the second floor.

"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieked Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something — _Stupefy!_ "

A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow — she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the painting next door.

"Don't Stun them, Filch!" shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his suggestion.

"Right you are, Headmistress!" wheezed Filch. Although I vaguely recalled hearing from someone that he was a Squib, and so could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom, and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the brom was ablaze.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed so hard as I continued to watch Filch and Umbridge try different tactics in order to rid the corridors of the fireworks, each one ending up more disastrous than the last. At one point, Umbridge tried to Vanish one of the green-and-gold dragons, but it ended up multiplying by ten, all of them zooming off in different directions.

After a little while longer, however, I did head back into the Hall, along with Finn, and a few other students. That was when I noticed a rather large, eagle owl soar in through one of the windows, probably having been unable to come in any other way due to the fireworks. Much to my surprise, it made its way toward me and dropped a piece of parchment in my hands before flying off just as quickly. It wasn't an owl I recognized, and I hadn't really been expecting to hear from anyone; it wasn't even a long message, but it was enough to cause my mood to flip 180 degrees.

 _How's Grandad?_

 _By the way, I hear Switzerland is lovely this time of year._


	23. Chapter 22: A Guilty Conscience

_**Chapter Twenty-Two**_

 _A Guilty Conscience_

:.:.:

A paralyzing fear instantly took hold of my body and didn't release me for the remainder of the day. I couldn't even speak, much less find sleep that night. Finn had read the letter and was trying to make me feel better, but I knew it was hopeless, even the following day. It wasn't until the middle of dinner that I remembered there was someone who might've been able to give me answers.

"Finn, I'll see you later, all right?" I said, voice hoarse and unsteady.

"Where're you — ?"

I'd already gotten up from the bench and left the Great Hall, but as I descended the dungeon steps, I ran into someone.

"What're you doing here?" I asked.

Draco whipped around with surprise but composed himself upon realizing it was me.

"Don't talk to me, blood traitor," he said coldly.

"Then get out of my way," I spat. "I need to talk to Snape."

"That's too bad," said Draco, blocking my way. "Umbridge needs him."

"It'll take two bloody seconds, Malfoy, just move!"

"Whatever it is, it can wait," he continued to speak as menacingly and silkily as his father.

I tried pushing past him, but much like the last time we ended up in a physical altercation, I was really no match for him. I continued to shout at him to let me through and he continued to argue with me, until Snape came to the door.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said scornfully.

"Professor Snape, sir —" Draco started, but I cut in.

"What's happened to my grandad?"

"Demetria?" came Harry's voice from inside Snape's office. He appeared a second later.

"Potter?" said Draco.

"Potter is here for Remedial Potions," Snape smoothly explained, although I knew he was actually there to learn Occlumency. Draco, on the other hand, believed the lie and was looking rather gleeful.

"Snape — _Professor_ Snape —" I wondered if I would ever get that right, "Please, has something happened?"

"Sir, Professor Umbridge needs your help," said Draco shortly. "They've found Montague, sir. He's turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor."

Snape had paused, seemingly deciding which crisis to tend to first, but I couldn't wait any longer, so I tried my best to calm down and closed my eyes.

 _Diavázo_ , I thought, focusing on Snape.

I immediately felt the familiar pull, as though my mind was being joined with Snape's. I heard no one else's voices, but I could barely even hear Snape's, and I knew this was because he was keeping his mind guarded. But the more I persisted, the more I was able to hear, even though it was only bits and pieces.

 _Montague_ — _How did he get there_ — _Carlisle_ — _Tell her_ — _deserves to know_ — _Dark Lord_ — _catalyst — the prophecy —_

"What prophecy?" I demanded. I'd opened my eyes, pulling myself from Snape's thoughts, and found my nose was bleeding a bit; his eyes widened.

"Did you . . . ?"

He didn't even need to finish; I nodded.

"Draco, perhaps Professor McGonagall would be able to assist you," said Snape, though his eyes didn't leave mine. "Potter, return to my office, I shall be with you momentarily."

Both blokes left, doing as Snape said.

"Demetria," Snape began, "how did you break my Occlumens shield?"

"I dunno!" I admitted, exasperated that this was the topic of discussion when I needed for it to be my grandad. "I guess Lumens can do that! What's happened to my grandad?"

But Snape was quiet again for a moment. I closed my eyes and began focusing again, but he grabbed my arm.

"Stop that," he demanded.

"Then tell me!" I said, releasing my arm from his grip.

"How do you know anything has happened?" he asked smoothly.

"Dolohov."

Snape remained unfazed as he asked, "How could _Antonin Dolohov_ — a servant of the Dark Lord — have possibly contacted you inside Hogwarts, when every owl and fireplace —"

"Because he's not a bloody idiot!" I said, only growing more frustrated. "An owl gave me this yesterday."

I retrieved the crumpled up letter from my pocket and handed it to him. His dark eyes scanned it quickly and then returned to me, not understanding.

"Demetria —"

"It's code," I pressed. "He calls me Switzerland because I . . . I was on both sides . . ." Something I still hated to admit. "He just wanted me to know he's the one who sent it."

"Very well," said Snape lazily, "but have you considered that nothing is wrong with your grandfather at all? That perhaps Dolohov simply wants you to worry so you will try and communicate with Carlisle?"

I didn't waste any time.

 _Diavázo!_

In the real world, I could hear Snape telling me to stop, but inside his mind, I could hear more fragments of his thoughts.

 _Carlisle_ _— Demetria, stop! — running out — hurt —_

"He's hurt?!"

"I told you not to do that," said Snape testily.

"Where is he?" I urged.

"Demetria, listen to me," he said fiercely, holding me by the shoulders. "There is nothing you can do for him."

"I can heal him with my Li —"

"If you go to him, they will be waiting for you," he stressed. "They will finish him off and then take you to harness your Light."

There was a terrible aching feeling in my chest, my heart feeling heavy inside it.

"They're using him to get to me?" I said quietly, and when Snape was silent, I began yelling again. "I cut all ties with him! That night, I made sure every one of them thought he was dead to me! That was just all for nothing?!"

"Dolohov has been suspicious of your grandfather, and even your father, from the beginning," Snape explained calmly. "This was not your fault. Carlisle knows his time is running out, and he's been giving up on the pretense."

"What — No! Why — ?"

"I believe his final wish is to . . ." — he racked his brain for the words — "do right by you . . ."

I could feel tears bubbling up — sad tears, because I knew it was only a matter of time before I lost my grandfather; but also angry tears, because he picked a horrible time to do the right thing.

"Well, you've got to tell him to stop," I implored, my throat beginning to close up. "If he wants to do right by me, he'll just stay alive and —"

"I fear a change of course is not possible at this point," said Snape quietly, his hands dropping to his sides, and I could've sworn I detected the slightest hint of sadness in his tone.

"This is . . . probably a stupid question . . ." I said, trying my hardest not to let the tears slip, "but — er — there's absolutely _no_ way I could talk to him?"

"I will see if there is anything I can do," said Snape, "but I think it would be wise to begin to make your peace with his passing."

I felt like that was something I'd already been doing since that night in the graveyard.

"Thank you, Snape," I said quietly but, of course, had to correct myself. " _Professor_ Sn —"

"It is after hours," Snape said coolly. "You need not address me so formally."

I wasn't even sure what to say anymore. This man standing before me was so rude and cold toward everyone, especially Harry, but not with me . . . I knew I shouldn't've pressed the matter but . . .

"Snape," I said tentatively, "why're you nice to me?"

Granted, he wasn't always. He used to treat me like all the others, but ever since the day Voldemort invaded my mind and I told Viktor to bring me to Snape — ever since I told him that I trusted him — he treated me differently. Maybe that was all there was to it . . . Either way, Snape didn't seem too keen on sharing. He'd gone silent once again.

"Never mind," I said quickly. "Thank you again."

Snape nodded to me before I left and headed for the common room. As soon as I walked in, Draco leapt up from an armchair and moved toward me.

"Demetria, I'm so sorry about —"

"Save it," I said coldly. "Don't pretend we're suddenly friends again."

"I'm not pretending," he insisted, offended. "If something's happened to your grandfather —"

"As if you didn't already know," I spat.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just find it hard to believe that your father hasn't mentioned anything," I said.

"Well, he hasn't," said Draco. "Excuse me for trying to be nice —"

"That's the thing — you don't know how to be nice to people!" I shouted; we were attracting a bit of attention now. "You used to know how! We actually used to be friends! But now you're just — Ugh, you're such a git! A miserable, pathetic, little git! Why don't you grow a pair and stand up to your father already —"

"You have no idea what it's like to —"

"Oh, I have no idea?!" I yelled. "Really, Draco? I have absolutely no idea what it's like to be pressured to join Voldemort?!" — given the crowd, no one was really dramatically affected by hearing his name, except for a group of first years who I heard gasp — "Because I sort of feel like I do — I do know what it's like!"

"You're about to lose the only family member you have left, and then who's going to pressure you?!"

I stood there for a moment, frozen with anger. Draco realized right away that he'd made a mistake in saying that.

"Demetria —"

I punched him. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and I think a few others started to advance on me, but Draco stopped them. I marched straight up the stairs to my dormitory, dropped onto my four-poster, and finally released the tears I'd been holding back.

–

Exams were approaching quickly, but I couldn't seem to focus on anything but Grandad. I wondered if Snape would actually be able to find a way to put me in contact with him . . . but I was really doubting it. Not to mention, I was thinking it might actually make things worse to speak to him one last time knowing that it was the last time. Perhaps I just needed to let it go now — sort of quit cold turkey, as they say. Pretty soon, however, there _was_ something else to have on my mind.

 **CAREER ADVICE**

 **All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting**

 **with their Head of House during the first week of the Summer**

 **term, in which they will be given the opportunity to**

 **discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments**

 **are listed below.**

"Really not looking forward to that," said Finn desolately, skimming through a collection of leaflets as we sat in the library.

"You don't know what you want to do?" I asked.

"Nope," he admitted, "but even if I did, I don't reckon Snape would be too interested in discussing it."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be even less interested considering you haven't even got anything to discuss," I teased.

"On the contrary," said Finn, smirking, "this will be the perfect opportunity to ask him what shampoo he uses — No, honestly, how does he keep that luscious mane of his so full of shine and volume?"

"Sounds to me like you've found your career, mate," said George, appearing from behind a bookcase.

"Snape's personal hairdresser," said Fred, following suit. "He'll be thrilled."

"What brings you two to the library?" I asked. "You do realize that's where you've wandered off to, right?"

"Oh, this was no accident, Princess," said Fred. "We came here to find _you_ —"

"— with a bit of help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," George added with a wink. I knew that meant they used the Marauder's Map.

"I'm honestly quite hurt that you two never come to find _me_ ," said Finn in jest.

"Then allow me to rephrase," Fred said. " _George_ came here to find Demetria, but _I_ came here to find you, Finny — You ever been thrown out of the library?"

"Actually, yeah," said Finn, chuckling. We both had the previous year, thanks to Grigor.

"Well, these two lovebirds need to talk, so let's get you thrown out a second time, eh?"

Finn got up and followed Fred. I watched until they disappeared behind another bookcase and wondered what they were up to. After all, it didn't take much to get tossed out of the library.

"What's up?" I asked George as he sat across from me in Finn's seat.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," he told me sincerely. "Are you all right?"

I'd told him all about what Snape said to me.

"Honestly, yeah," I said, "but I reckon that's only because it doesn't feel real, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get that," he said. "I wish there was something I could do . . . Y'know, Fred and I are setting off a bit of a distraction tomorrow to give Harry time to talk to" — he took a glance around — "Sirius . . ."

"Thanks, George," I said whole-heartedly, "but I'm afraid it's not as simple as that."

"I figured as much," he said gloomily. "Just thought I'd give it a try."

"So what sort of distraction?" I asked, suddenly very interested.

"Oh, well — er — that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "After the distraction — Well, there's no way Umbridge'll let us stay anyway —"

"You're leaving," I said blankly.

"We're leaving," he repeated with a sad smile. "We've got a shop, Tri — Diagon Alley, with a flat above it. You can come over anytime."

"George, that's fantastic!" I said, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart. I'd even started smiling. "I'm really happy for you two . . . I remember when this was just an idea that you were telling me about."

"On our first date in the kitchens," he said with a smirk.

"That was _not_ a date," I said, laughing.

"Pretty sure it was," he said comically. "It was a double date — you and me, and Fred and Dobby."

I was still laughing until I realized something: this was my last chance to tell George that I . . . Unless I didn't . . .

 _Maybe I should just wait,_ I mused. _I'll give it some more time. It doesn't absolutely have to be now . . . but he is leaving tomorrow . . . and if I don't tell him now, I'll have to write it in a letter or something and that's so impersonal . . . unless I just wait until I see him next, sometime over the summer . . . but that's a long way away and_ —

"Demetria?" said George. "Everything okay?"

" _You_!" came the familiar screech of the birdlike librarian, Madam Pince. "I told you to leave!"

"Ace, thanks, Fred," said George under his breath with a bit of a chuckle. "Gregory the Smarmy's corridor, five o'clock — I'll see you then, love," he told me quickly, getting up from the seat as Madam Pince practically swatted him away like a fly.

And though I wanted to get up and follow him, I had to hurry to my lesson with Kleio . . . because I'd just realized I was late. I was hoping Kleio wouldn't give me too much of a hard time considering how well I'd been doing, but — well, who was I kidding? I was expecting the worst.

"Tell George if he makes you late again, he will have me to deal with," said Kleio crisply. She'd been waiting for me, seated on one of the cushions on the floor.

"Actually, I was studying and the time just sort of —" I stopped when I saw her expression hard as stone. "— No, yeah, I'll tell him."

"He is one of the Weasley boys?" he asked, getting to her feet; I nodded. "The one in my class or one of the ones there is two of?"

I gave a breath of laughter and said, "Er — the one there's two of."

"I like them," she said with a brief grin. In an instant, however, it was right back to business. "Tonight, we practice _Aspída_." _**(Shield)**_

The Light shield actually proved to be the most difficult task yet, but at least it didn't give me a nosebleed every time I practiced it.

The following day had me rather anxious, because I had something I really wanted to say to George, but there wasn't any time for it, it seemed. After our Potions lesson together, I had my Career Advice meeting with Snape. I doubted I'd make it out of there in time.

"I understand you are still on-edge about your grandfather," said Snape smoothly. I instantly felt bad that that wasn't the reason. "I must apologize — I do not think there is anything that can be done."

"Yeah, I sort of expected that," I said dismally. "Thanks anyway."

"Of course," he said. "Now then, am I to expect you will be following in your father's footsteps when you leave Hogwarts?"

"Yeah — or well, probably," I said. "But after that, I've been considering — er — Curse-Breaking."

I'd been expecting a judging look of some kind, but Snape simply nodded.

"You certainly possess the grades for it," he said coolly, "not to mention, the intelligence and skill. I trust you will be receiving rather high marks on all of your O.W.L.s, so there will not be any issues there. I believe you could show great promise in this field."

I sat there speechless for a moment before finding my voice and lamely saying, "Thanks . . ."

"Demetria, there is something I would like to show you," he said solemnly.

"Okay," I said, still sort of taken aback.

Snape retrieved from his pocket a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance, which he then uncorked and tipped into a shallow stone basin on his desk — a Pensieve. The silvery contents swirled and shimmered inside, neither gas nor liquid. I looked to Snape who simply nodded, so I bent forward, took a deep breath, and plunged my face into the Pensieve.

I felt my feet leave the office floor; I was falling, falling through whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, I found myself standing in the drawing room of Harris Manor. I knew whatever time I was in wasn't the present, as I was now inside one of Snape's memories, but everything in the room looked exactly the same. I continued to look around until I spotted him, or at least a younger version of him. He had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and he kept pushing it away from his face as he paced up and down the room.

"Severus," came a familiar voice, "what're you doing here?"

I turned and saw my father entering the room now who, much like the room itself, also looked just the same, though I'd only seen him in my dreams.

"I came to warn you," said Snape urgently. "They're coming for —"

"Aiden, who's th — _Snivellus_?"

For a split second, I could've sworn I was seeing the slightly-older version of Harry . . . and with a few mistakes. This was James Potter, with the same untidy black hair, but a set of hazel eyes and no scar on his forehead. And rushing in after him, was an even younger version of Grandad. His eyes were the vibrant green color I'd remembered seeing throughout my childhood, and his hair was far less grey, although definitely still present in his brown locks.

"Sorry, son, he insisted," said Grandad ruefully.

"What's going on?" James demanded.

"The Dark Lord is asking for Demetria," said Snape anxiously.

"That's impossible," Dad dismissed. "I joined so that wouldn't happen!"

I assumed this was after my mum had passed, when Dad moved back in with Grandad.

"No, don't you see what he's doing?" said James accusingly. "It's a trap."

"I thought we were past this, mate," Dad said.

"Aiden, he's one of _them_ ," James reminded bitingly.

"I came here to speak with Aiden, _not you_ ," Snape seethed.

"Seems it's sort of a package deal, Snivelly," said James, stepping threateningly closer to Snape.

"Aiden, I need to speak with you and there isn't much time," Snape urged.

"So speak," said James coldly.

"James," said Dad warningly; Harry's dad glared at Snape but backed away.

"He's sending a group of his servants here, tonight," Snape said to Dad. "He wants you to make an Unbreakable Vow that Demetria will join him."

"How d'we know he didn't already send you to get the job done?" said James, pulling out his wand and taking a protective stance.

"James, please!" Dad shouted in frustration. "Lucy trusted Severus, and I do too . . ."

I watched Snape's eyes flicker with appreciation as he nodded — a very familiar look I'd received from him.

James actually lowered his wand, seeming to finally lay his issue with Snape to rest.

"So what happens now?" he asked determinedly. "Should I get the others?"

By that, I assumed he was referring to the other Marauders: Remus, Sirius, and that bloody traitor, Wormtail.

"No," said Dad gravely.

"Aiden, you're not fighting alone!"

"Yes I am," he said decidedly. "I'm not letting anyone else die because of me — or _for_ me," he added just as James was about to say something. "James, go home."

"No way in hell —"

"Lily needs you alive," said Dad sternly, his eyes glowing with intensity as he held James by the shoulders. "Harry needs you alive. Plus, someone's got to be there to make sure Demetria doesn't end up completely like Remus."

The two friends shared a small laugh, but were immediately reminded of what was about to happen, and embraced.

"Give 'em hell," James said.

"You know I will," said Dad, the corners of his mouth flicking upward as James Disapparated.

"Dad, take Demetria somewhere safe," my father ordered.

"Aiden," said Grandad gravely, "if we continue on this way, the Harrises will cease to exist."

"So be it," Dad darkly said.

"Do not be foolish!" Grandad reprimanded. "Are you so blinded by pride that — ?"

"You want me to give in and let them have Demetria? That's your brilliant plan?!" Dad shouted. "To just give him exactly what he wants? My daughter — the catalyst!?" He took a brief pause to calm himself, his voice coming out low but fierce. "I'm not letting Lucy die for nothing. Now, I won't ask you again — take Demetria somewhere safe."

But Grandad clearly refused, as he wouldn't make a single move.

"I'll take her."

I'd nearly forgotten Snape was even there.

Dad took another look at Grandad whose expression remained hard as stone, before turning back to Snape.

"Fine, she's sleeping upstairs," Dad told him, and as Snape went to leave, he stopped him to say very seriously, "Guard her with your life, Severus. Promise me."

"I promise," said Snape at once.

I wanted to stay and see more, but evidently, Snape did not. I felt him pull me gently from the Pensieve, and I found myself right back in his office, just as speechless as I'd been earlier.

"I thought it best to spare you from seeing your father murdered," he said softly, returning to his seat. "Although, naturally, you are wondering what happened next."

I gave a small nod.

"I escaped with you to my childhood home, where I waited for a signal of some kind from your father, a signal which did not come. Instead, I received a Patronus message from your grandfather. He said it was over and instructed me to bring you back; I did. I do not know what I thought had transpired, but . . . the Dark Lord had sent a number of Death Eaters — your father was outnumbered . . . and he was killed . . . Carlisle agreed to make an Unbreakable Vow with Dolohov, promising you would join the Dark Lord when you were of age, but a third party was required to do so . . ."

The real reason as to why Snape treated me the way he did was now all too clear — he felt guilty.

"I broke my promise," he said, a hint of mournfulness detectable in his voice. "Aiden trusted me, and I betrayed him . . . for the same reasons Carlisle did — a means of survival."

I honestly didn't know how I was feeling . . . but I'd finally thought of something to say.

"And the Vow?"

"An Unbreakable Vow is lifted if either party dies before it is fulfilled," said Snape.

The reason behind Grandad's recent actions became clear as well. And my attempts to save his life were for nothing, it seemed, because he'd been doomed from the start, for when you break an Unbreakable Vow, you die.

"Am I free to go?" I asked suddenly.

Snape nodded and I left as quickly as possible. I wasn't even sure what to make of everything I'd just seen, everything I'd heard. Thankfully, I didn't have to process it right away because I was distracted by a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the entrance hall. I'd completely forgotten about Fred and George's distraction.

It was just like the night when Trelawney had been sacked. Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring; teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, the troublesome poltergeist who was bobbing overhead, gazed down upon Fred and George, who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakable look of two people who'd just been cornered.

"So!" said Umbridge triumphantly, standing upon the marble staircase and looking down upon her prey. "So . . . you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," said Fred, looking back up at her without the slightest sign of fear.

Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness for some reason.

"I've got the form, Headmistress," he said hoarsely, waving a piece of parchment. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting . . . Oh, let me do it now . . ."

 _Whips?_ I thought in a panic, before realizing they would probably be leaving before Filch even had the chance . . . before _I_ even had the chance to tell George . . .

"Very good, Argus," said Umbridge. "You two," she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

"You know what?" said Fred. "I don't think we are."

He turned to his twin.

"George," he said, "I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly.

"Time to test out our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred.

"Definitely," said George.

And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together, " _Accio Brooms!_ "

I heard a loud crash from somewhere in the distance and then saw Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing a heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had presumably fastened them to the wall, hurtling along the corridor toward their owners. They stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own.

Fred looked around at the assembled students, and at the silent, watchful crowd.

"If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley — Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premises!"

"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," added George, pointing at Umbridge.

"STOP THEM!" shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

And Peeves swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors.

I didn't stay among the students for long. In fact, as soon as Fred and George were out of sight, I began making my way up the marble staircase, Harry no longer on it. I continued to walk, ascending the castle floors, and didn't stop until I reached what had quickly become my favorite spot at Hogwarts — the Astronomy Tower. This time, however, I wasn't sad. I thought of Cedric, certainly, but I finally felt at peace with his passing. My grandfather, on the other hand . . . I wasn't sure how I was feeling about that.

It was almost as though I wasn't really processing anything. Snape had just basically confessed to me that he betrayed my father, whom I'd just seen in his final moments before death, sacrificing himself to save me. I'd also just found out that any hope I had of talking to Grandad one last time was pointless, and that there was absolutely no way I could've saved his life, so I could've been speaking with him this entire time. Well, probably not this _entire_ time, as he certainly would've been killed faster if anyone found out we were speaking.

I stood on the balcony, looking out into the sunset as it cast an orange glow on the grounds, unable to figure out why I wasn't more upset about any of this. The only answer I could come up with, was that it just didn't feel real. Losing Grandad wasn't even something I could wrap my brain around. I knew it was stupid, but he'd always been there, and a world without him just didn't seem possible. A world without my father was, unfortunately, all too real for me. It was hard to miss him when I hardly knew him, if I could even say I did at all. But to lose Grandad? Even after everything he'd done, I knew he only wanted to protect me, and I suppose Snape sort of did too.

"Princess!"

I shouted in surprise and jumped back, my heart nearly catapulting out of my chest. Fred and George had popped up on their broomsticks from below the balcony.

"What the — Why did you — You nearly gave me a heart attack, you gits!"

"Would _gits_ come back after an elaborate exit just to give a proper goodbye to their dear friend?" said Fred with a smirk.

"Don't lie," I said in jest, recovering. "I know you only came back for Apollo."

"That _was_ part of it, actually," George admitted. "Fred?"

"On it!"

His twin zoomed off, presumably to the Owlery.

"So what was the other part?" I asked.

"For this," said George, coming into the building and landing his broom next to me. He then wrapped his arms around me, lifted me off the ground, and kissed me.

"Y'know I'll see you soon," I said, laughing when we parted.

"I don't care," he said, pressing his lips passionately back to mine.

"Wait!" I said, pulling away. George set me down. "George, I have to tell you something!"

He chuckled at how enthusiastic I was and said, "All right, shoot."

And this time, when I looked into his baby blue eyes, I didn't feel a hint of doubt.

"I love you," I told him.

George's whole expression lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, but after a moment, he'd plastered his usual sly grin on his face and said, "I actually think we're better off as friends."

"Shut up," I teased, slapping his arm.

"All right, seriously . . . that's good," he continued, using our little inside joke — good. "It's just great actually."

I laughed as I recalled us having the same conversation when we both said we had dates to the Yule Ball.

"Excellent," I recited.

"Superb," replied George, still smirking.

"Ace."

"Peachy."

That day, I'd said "see you tonight," but since I, unfortunately, wouldn't be, I told him, "See you soon."

George, on the other hand, stuck with his original line, although said it with much more confidence — rather goofy confidence, considering it didn't make sense.

"Save me a damn seat," he said dramatically.

I couldn't help but smile into our kiss, until we were both smiling so much that our lips weren't even really touching anymore. We pulled apart, but kept our foreheads together, and were smiling so much that we just started laughing.

"I love you too," George finally said, sincerely.

We finally turned away from one another when we heard Fred give a longing sigh.

"I wish Finn were here," he said in a dreamy tone. "He really knows how to make a third wheel feel special."

George and I laughed as he mounted his broom.

"See you, love," he said before giving me a quick kiss.

"See you."

"It's not quite the palace I'm sure you're used to," said Fred comically, "but you're always welcome at our humble abode, Princess. You did help pay for it, after all." He gave an elaborate bow, even on his broom, Apollo floating beside him.

"Come here, you tosspot," I said, rolling my eyes.

Fred neared the balcony and wrapped his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. And then they were off — again — flying back off into the sunset with Apollo, except this time, I hadn't missed my chance.


	24. Chapter 23: OWLs

_**Chapter Twenty-Three**_

 _O.W.L.s_

:.:.:

Fred and George had left behind quite the legacy, it seemed. They were all anyone seemed to be able to talk about. And not only that, some students were even trying to follow in their footsteps. I was constantly hearing all about pranks being pulled on Umbridge, and how nearly everyone was using a Skiving Snackbox treat in order to get out of her class. She and Filch were having a rather difficult time trying to get rid of the swamp still on the fifth floor corridor, and none of the other professors helped, even though I was sure they could rather easily, especially McGonagall. But instead, she continually turned a blind eye to such things, and I could've sworn I'd even heard her whisper to Peeves when he was loosening a crystal chandelier, "It unscrews the other way." In case I hadn't already mentioned it enough, I was quite the fan of McGonagall.

The only thing I wasn't too pleased with thanks to the twins, was that Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet. He remained confused and disorientated, so much so that his parents actually came to the school; I saw them that Tuesday morning during Charms, striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry. Montague was the second best Chaser on my team, and I couldn't bring Warrington back on because he'd checked himself into the hospital wing due to a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he'd been coated in cornflakes.

"Dem, just close your eyes and pick someone," said Finn lightly. "It doesn't matter who the third Chaser is — we're unstoppable!"

"I don't care," I said determinedly. "I want this team to be the best it can be."

"Demetria, it's too bad you didn't get the chance to meet Oliver Wood," said Ron from the desk behind mine. "I reckon you two would've gotten along."

"Probably the opposite, actually," said Harry, laughing, "what with how good she is and the fact that he wouldn't've been able to have her on his team."

"Who's Oliver Wood?" I asked, catching the teacup I'd just charmed to sprout four sturdy little legs.

"You're right — come to think of it," said Ron, "I'm actually surprised he hasn't tried to recruit you for Puddlemere United."

"Puddlemere?" I parroted. "Oh, is he the Keeper on their Reserve team?"

"Yep," said Harry, "and probably Gryffindor's most obsessed Quidditch captain."

"I'm sure he wasn't as bad as Viktor," I said dubiously.

"Once, in my second year, he told me to 'catch the Snitch or die trying,'" said Harry.

I paused to rack my brain for something Viktor might've said to match that severity, but came up empty-handed.

"I take it back."

"You know," said Hermione, "Montague could be permanently injured."

"Who cares?" said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood drunkenly, trembling violently at the knees. "Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!"

"You?" she said, snatching her own teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk. "Why should I be worried about you?"

"When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process, I'm going to be in deep trouble," said Ron bitterly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent a Howler again."

"But —"

"It'll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait," he said darkly. "She'll say I should've stopped them leaving, I should've grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something . . . Yeah, it'll be all my fault . . ."

"Well, if she _does_ say that it'll be very unfair, you couldn't have done anything! But I'm sure she won't, I mean, if it's really true they've got premises in Diagon Alley now, they must have been planning this for ages . . ."

"Sort of," I said, mostly to Finn, but the others didn't seem to hear me anyway.

"Yeah, but that's another thing, how did they get the premises?" said Ron, hitting his teacup so hard with his wand that its legs collapsed again and it lay twiching before him. "It's a bit dodgy, isn't it? They'll need loads of Galleons to afford the rent on a place in Diagon Alley, she'll want to know what they've been up to, to get their hands on that sort of gold . . ."

I looked to Harry with a sort of mild surprise. I figured he would've told his best mates about giving the twins his half of the Triwizard winnings.

"Well, yes, that occured to me too," said Hermione. "I've been wondering whether Mundungus has persuaded them to sell stolen goods or something awful . . ."

"He hasn't," Harry and I both said curtly.

"How do you know?" Ron and Hermione then chorused together.

"Because —" Harry hesitated, and I swooped in.

"Because they got the gold from Harry and I," I said. "We both gave them our Triwizard winnings."

There was a shocked silence, then Hermione's teacup jogged right over the edge of the desk and smashed on the floor.

"Oh, you two _didn't_!" she said.

"We did," said Harry mutinously. "And I don't regret it —"

He looked to me and I jumped in.

"Neither do I," I said proudly. "I didn't want that gold, I didn't even deserve it."

"Besides, they'll be great at a joke shop," Harry insisted.

"But this is excellent!" said Ron, looking thrilled. "It's your faults — Mum can't blame me at all! Can I tell her?"

"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," said Harry dully. "'Specially if she thinks they're receiving stolen cauldrons or something . . ."

"Wait, I mean, she'll forgive us, won't she?" I asked nervously.

"Is this woman really that terrifying?" Finn curiously inquired.

"Oh, she can be, mate," said Ron darkly. "I didn't think she'd get to _you_ though, Demetria."

"Well, I'm dating George now," I explained. "I don't want her holding me to some unrealistic expectations of keeping him under control."

"I don't reckon she'd expect that from you," Harry assured me. "Especially since it's rather impossible, isn't it?"

Before the week was over, I managed to find a replacement for Montague. I'd left a notice on the board in the Slytherin common room, asking anyone interested to try out, and I actually found someone rather good. He was a sixth year by the name Ellis Urquhart, and though he wasn't quite as good as Montague, he wasn't an enormous prat like Montague, so I thought he was a lovely addition to the team, especially since he was definitely better than Warrington. And thanks to Ellis (although everyone else insisted it was because of me, especially Finn), we beat Hufflepuff in our final match of the season.

The only match left was between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, although my housemates were constantly assuring me that the outcome hardly mattered, and we were practically guaranteed the Quidditch Cup.

"Hey, Finn," said Daphne, as Finn and I were leaving the Great Hall to watch the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match.

"H-Hey, Daphne!" Finn fervently greeted.

"D'you reckon we could talk?" she said tentatively. "I know the game is about to start, but I've been thi —"

"Yeah, absolutely," he said brightly.

"Okay, great," she said before catching my eye and mouthing _Thank you_ ; I smiled in reply.

"Huh, better late than never, I s'pose," I said as the two walked off.

On the way to the pitch, I tried to find someone to watch the game with, but ended up locking eyes with Draco. The black eye I'd given him from the punch had faded, unfortunately, but he didn't seem to forget why he'd gotten it. I certainly didn't.

He didn't even try to speak to me as I walked past him and found two-thirds of the Golden Trio, seeing as Ron was playing in the game.

"Hey, mind if I sit with you two?" I asked.

"Not at all," Hermione cheerfully insisted.

So I followed her and Harry to the second to topmost row of the stands and had a seat. It was a fine, clear day. Ron couldn't've wished for better weather, and speaking of, I was suddenly wishing I _had_ said something to Draco. If I heard so much as one word from "Weasley Is Our King" I was sure I was going to punch him again.

Lee, who'd been very dispirited since Fred and George left, was commentating as usual, though it definitely lacked his usual gusto. It was actually a bit of an improvement compared to when he'd commentated during my team's match against Hufflepuff about a weekend or two ago.

"And they're off!" said Lee. "And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well . . . He's going straight for goal! He's going to shoot — and — and — shite! And he's scored."

I groaned along with the Gryffindors and predictably, the a group of Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing:

 _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _He cannot block a single ring . . ._

"Harry," I heard a hoarse voice from behind me. "Hermione . . . Oh, hello, Demetria . . ."

I turned and saw Hagrid's enormous bearded face sticking between the seats; apparently he had squeezed his way all along the row behind, for the first and second years he'd just passed had a ruffled, flattened look about them. For some reason, Hagrid was bent double as though anxious not to be seen, though he was still at least four feet taller than everybody else.

"Listen," he whispered, "can — er — you two come with me? Now? While ev'ryone's watchin' the match?"

"Hagrid, you can trust Demetria . . ." said Hermione hopefully.

"Oh, 'course I can," he said. "Demetria, yeh can come too, but it's gotta be now . . . while ev'ryone's lookin' the other way . . ."

Hagrid's nose was dripping gently with blood. His eyes were both blackened.

"That's all right," I insisted. "I'll stay and let you know how Ron does."

Harry and I shared a look that said we both already knew how it would go, but nevertheless, he and Hermione thanked me and agreed to go with Hagrid, so I was left to watch the match alone . . . again.

But something sort of miraculous happened once Harry and Hermione had left the stadium. Bradley was tanking up the pitch toward Ron, he'd tossed the Quaffle, and Ron blocked it! I jumped up along with the rest of the Gryffindors and we all cheered.

"WAY TO GO, RON!" Lee shouted. "All right, it's Johnson with the Quaffle — she passes to Spinnet — intercepted by Davies who passes to Bradley, who's coming right back for the Gryffindor Keeper! Bradley shoots — ANOTHER SAVE BY RON WEASLEY!"

I wished I'd been sitting with the Slytherins so I could have a front row seat to Draco's face. Looking at the Gryffindors around me, I spotted two familiar faces a few seats down from me.

"Dean! Seamus!" I called out; they turned and greeted me with amicable smiles. "Follow my lead!" If they were confused, they hid it well, as I moved closer to them and directed my voice out toward the stadium:

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _He didn't let the Quaffle in,_

 _Weasley is our King!_

Dean and Seamus immediately joined in with me, and it wasn't long before the entire Gryffindor section was singing along. And though Ron was far away, I could just make out a huge grin spreading across his face. I was rather glad I didn't miss this match. Ron continued to save every Quaffle that came his way, and with Ginny beating Cho to the Snitch (naturally), Gryffindor won!

 _Weasley can save anything,_

 _He never leaves a single ring,_

 _That's why Gryffindors all sing:_

 _Weasley is our King!_

I ran out onto the pitch as the players were landing and ran right up to Ron.

"That was brilliant!" I praised, practically jumping into his arms. He returned the embrace rather uncertainly at first. "Congratulations, Ron!"

When I'd pulled away, his ears were fiercely red.

"Er, thanks," he said shyly, though he couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear. "Was that you who started singing?"

"Yeah," I told him brightly.

"Thank you," he said, hugging me; I laughed and brought my arms back around him.

But this time what pulled us apart was the massive group of people who began hoisting Ron up onto their many shoulders as they continued to sing.

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _He didn't let the Quaffle in,_

 _Weasley is our King . . ._

As I headed back toward the castle after the mass of red and gold, I happened upon Harry and Hermione.

"Hey, I guess you heard?" I asked fervently.

"Yeah, it's unbelievable!" said Harry.

"It's fantastic!" I agreed. "So what'd Hagrid want?"

"Oh — er — Hagrid's sort of got . . ." Harry looked to Hermione.

"A brother," Hermione provided uneasily. "A _giant_ brother —"

"— living in the Forbidden Forest," Harry added.

I stared at them for a moment, eyes wide as Galleons.

"Oh shite . . ."

–

As it turned out, Slytherin did end up winning the Quidditch Cup, but Ron and the other Gryffindors were so pleased with the last match, that it wasn't even a huge deal. And, oddly enough, although I'd been expecting a rather poor reaction from the other Houses, everyone seemed sort of happy for us.

"They're only happy for _you_ ," Finn insisted. "They love you."

"They love you too," I told him. "Actually, we've got a rather decent group of Slytherins on this team . . . Y'know, except for Malfoy and Bletchley . . ."

Now that June was upon us, to myself and my fellow fifth years, this meant only one thing: O.W.L.s. Nearly everyone seemed to be going mental, and I was very thankful that Finn wasn't one of them. Oh, and speaking of Finn . . . he and Daphne were finally official! It turned out, there _had_ been a bloke who broke Daphne's heart in the past and she'd been scared to get back out there. She actually even said I'd helped her. The only downside to this, however, was that I knew how Fred felt being the third wheel. I didn't mind _too_ much, but I found myself spending less time with Finn than I normally would've. I knew they probably wanted their space anyway, so rather than being a trio, I was mostly flying solo as of lately, which would've been helpful if I wanted to shove my nose in books every second of every day to study like the rest of the fifth year population, but I didn't . . . so I was rather bored. So bored, in fact, that I'd asked Kleio for extra lessons, although she turned me down.

"The body needs time to rest and retzarge," she'd told me. "Vigorous training this early would be too mutz."

We received our examination schedules and details of the prodecure for O.W.L.s during our next Transfiguration lesson.

"As you can see," said McGonagall as we copied down dates and times from the blackboard, "your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.

"Now, I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. Our new — headmistress" — McGonagall was clearly very unhappy to address Umbridge as such — "has asked the teachers to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely — because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the headmistress's new regime at the school . . ."

I was suddenly fighting the urge to do poorly on purpose.

With our first exam (Theory of Charms) looming closer, I was finding it rather difficult to spend time with the Golden Trio, specifically Hermione. I'd agreed to test her the day before, but she was so incredibly agitated that I faked a nosebleed and handed the task over to Harry. Hermione was too distracted to notice that I was faking (Really, I hadn't even used a Nosebleed Nougat or anything), but Harry was completely aware of my ruse and I knew I owed him one.

I couldn't even really spend time with Adrian because he was a seventh year, currently just as worried about taking his N.E.W.T.s. And when the examiners arrived that evening, that only put everyone even more on-edge, or in some cases, over the edge. I just wanted it to all be over, and soon it would be. The very next morning brought us that much closer to the end of examinations, as the fifth and seventh years were called class by class to reenter the Great Hall after breakfast.

The four House tables had been removed and replaced instead with with many tables for one, all facing the staff-table end of the Hall where McGonagall stood facing us. When we were all seated and quiet she said, "You may begin," and then turned over an enormous hourglass on the desk beside her.

 _a) Give the incantation, and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly._

I was feeling rather confident about O.W.L.s so far, and the feeling remained even after lunch when we were all waiting in the small chamber beside the Great Hall to be called for our practical examinations. It was sort of like the testing Finn and I had to do when we'd first arrived at Hogwarts, except I didn't recognize any of the witches or wizards administering it. Luckily, I received Professor Tofty, as I'd heard him called, for my practical Charms exam, and he was a rather big Tornados fan. We did a bit of chatting about them as I performed both the Levitation and Color-Change Charms with great success.

The rest of the week progressed in a similar fashion — I would start to get a bit nervous, but once I was actually taking the exam, I relaxed. Transfiguration, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts all went rather well. I'd even gotten Professor Tofty again for my practical Defense exam, who asked me if I could read his mind, presumably having heard about my being a Lumen. Then again, who hadn't heard? It was in the _Daily Prophet_.

 _Diavázo_.

In an instant, I was pulled into Tofty's mind and right away, heard his voice saying (or well, thinking): _I would have offered you bonus points for this, but you're already receiving a perfect score_.

I recited his words back to him and he clapped enthusiastically.

A number of people had the day off on Friday while some students (like myself and Hermione) had their Ancient Runes exam. Over the weekend, I did start stressing out a bit as I studied with Adrian for our Potions exam. My fellow fifth years were taking their O.W.L. for Potions, but that Monday morning, I joined the seventh years to take the N.E.W.T. which I was relieved to say went well. For me, the hardest part of examinations was over, the remainder of the week seeming to fly by. We had Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday which included identifying a Knarl hidden among a dozen hedgehogs, demonstrating correct handling of a bowtruckle, feeding and cleaning out a Fire Crab without sustaining serious burns, and choosing from a wide selection of food the diet one would give a sick unicorn. That was, honestly, the only exam I wasn't one-hundred percent sure about.

Even though I was in the sixth year Arithmancy class, I'd never actually taken the O.W.L. for it and opted to. It was a tough subject, but considering it was easier material than I'd learned that year, I wasn't nervous. Later that night was Astronomy, which was probably the one I'd been looking forward to most. We had to fill in the blank star chart with the precise positions of the stars and planets we were observing — something Kleio and I actually discussed from time to time.

I'd just marked Venus on my chart when there came a loud _BANG_ from the grounds below. I looked and saw the door of Hagrid's cabin burst open, the massive figure roaring and brandishing his fists, surrounded by six people, all of whom, judging by the tiny threads of red light they were casting in his direction, seemed to be attempting to Stun him.

"No!" cried Hermione.

"My dear!" said Professor Tofty in a scandalized voice. "This is an examination!"

But nobody was paying the slightest attention to their star charts anymore: Jets of red light were still flying beside Hagrid's cabin, yet somehow they seemed to be bouncing off him. He was still upright and still, fighting. Cries and yells echoed across the grounds; a man yelled, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!" and Hagrid roared, "Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!"

"Look!" squealed Parvati, who was leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors seemed to have opened; light spilled out onto the dark lawn and a single long black shadow was now rippling across the lawn.

"Now, really!" said Professor Tofty anxiously. "Only sixteen minutes left, you know!"

But none of us paid him any mind as we watched the person now sprinting toward the battle beside Hagrid's cabin.

"How dare you!" the figure shouted as she ran. "How _dare_ you!"

"It's McGonagall!" whispered Hermione.

"Leave him alone! _Alone_ , I say!" said McGonagall's voice through the darkness. "On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such —"

Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender all screamed as no fewer than four Stunners shot McGonagall. Halfway between cabin and castle the red beams collided with her. For a moment she looked luminous, illuminated by an eerie red glow, then was lifted right off her feet, landed hard on her back, and moved no more.

"Galloping gargoyles!" shouted Tofty, seemingly forgetting the exam completely. "Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behavior!"

"COWARDS!" bellowed Hagrid, his voice carrying clearly to the top of the tower. "RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT — AN' THAT —"

"Oh my —" gasped Hermione.

Hagrid took two massive swipes at his closest attackers and seemed to have knocked them out cold.

"Get him, get him!" screamed Umbridge.

But her remaining helper was backing away so fast he tripped over one of his unconscious colleagues and fell over. Hagrid had turned and begun to run with his dog, Fang, hung limply around his neck; Umbridge sent one last Stunning Spell after him but it missed, and Hagrid, running full-pelt toward the distant gates, disappeared into the darkness.

There was a long minute's quivering silence, everybody gazing openmouthed into the grounds. Then Professor Tofty's voice said feebly, "Um . . . five minutes to go, everybody . . ."

–

The following afternoon held our final exam — History of Magic — and as my fellow fifth years and I entered the Great Hall, taking our places in front of the overturned examination papers, I couldn't help but feel rather great. The nightmare of O.W.L.s was nearly over, I'd received an owl from George that morning telling me all about how well the business was doing already, and even if I didn't do well on this exam, I didn't even really care because I wasn't really looking forward to moving on with Professor Binns anyway.

"Turn over your papers," said Professor Marchbanks (another examiner) from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hourglass. "You may begin . . ."

I was flying through the questions, and quickly found myself nearing the end at question ten: _Describe the circumstances that led to the Formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join_.

My quill could hardly keep up with my brain.

 _. . . the appointment of Supreme Mugwump Pierre Bonaccord was contested by the wizards of Grandad_

I paused for a moment, unsure of why I'd just written that, but quickly scratched it out and moved on.

 _. . . Liechtenstein because Bonaccord planned to ban troll-hunting and Grandad's in danger_

I froze, staring at the words. _Grandad's in danger_. Why had I written that? But suddenly, there was no need to wonder, as I found myself in a situation quite similar to what happened just a year ago.

 _A dark cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass spheres . . . Grandad laying on the ground . . . The shelf reads 64 . . . Lord Voldemort hanging over him, wand outstretched . . ._

I shook my head. It was happening again — Voldemort was inside my mind.

 _"Get up," hisses Voldemort. "Imperio!"_

 _He uses the Curse to force Grandad to his feet, but he manages to break free._

 _"I will not give it to you," he says weakly._

 _Dolohov sends a purple flame from his wand to Grandad who stumbles backward, his chest slashed._

The familiar feeling of my head pounding and hearing my heartbeat in my ears rushed back to me. I tried to shut my eyes and place myself in the calm white room as I'd done when Snape first taught me Occlumency, but then a thought stopped me: _What if this isn't just some vision? What if this is really happening?_

This could've been it — Grandad's final moments, and Voldemort wanted me to watch them.

 _"You have served your purpose, Carlisle," Voldemort says silkily. "I am afraid you are no longer useful to me. Antonin_ — _again."_

 _Dolohov strikes Grandad once more, who cries out in pain._

It was growing harder to focus, but I knew there was something I had to try to see whether or not this was real. I wasn't even sure if it would be possible, but I was going to try and read Grandad's mind through the vision.

When I was pulled back into the vision, I thought _Diavázo_ , trying to focus on Grandad. I could see myself begin to fade into the scene, standing beside him. I felt like it was working, like I was getting closer. I could feel my nose bleeding in reality, but I ignored it.

 _"Crucio!" says Voldemort's cold voice, wand extended toward me. The pain hits me and . . ._

. . . I lost my focus, forced out of the vision, and giving a tiny yelp of pain. I looked around but no one really seemed to notice. Looking down, I found drops of blood on my exam.

 _"Lift it down now . . . and give it to me . . ."_

 _"Why don't you just kill me already?" Grandad cries._

 _Diavázo._

 _I'm appearing back in the room. I reach out to touch Grandad and I start to hear him thinking something. I'm nearly there, his voice is beginning to come in . . . I'm trying my hardest to concentrate and tune it in: ". . . do right by you."_

 _"CRUCIO!"_

I was forced back out, and this time I'd released a cry, the pain much greater than before. I also found a concerning amount of blood on the desk and immediately pressed my sleeve to my nose. Everyone had turned to look at me, but only for a moment, because a split second later, everyone was looking at Harry who'd fallen to the ground, yelling and clutching his scar.

"I'm not going . . ." Harry gibbered as Professor Tofty escorted him out of the Great Hall. "I don't need the hospital wing . . . I don't want . . ."

I had a feeling that what had just happened to me also happened to Harry. I immediately stood up from my seat and went to follow him, but was stopped by a plump little witch examiner.

"Are you all right, dear?" she asked me. "Are you in need of the hospital wing as well?"

"Wh — No, you need to get Kleio — er — Professor Alexakis," I told her urgently.

"You may speak with your professor after the examination," said the witch sweetly and quietly, trying to keep the eyes off of me. It was pointless though — with Harry out of sight, I was a far more interesting subject than the History of Magic topics.

"All right, well I'm done," I pressed, handing her my parchment.

Her face paled upon seeing all of the blood as she uneasily said, "T-The examination is nearly over —"

"I need the hospital wing," I said, and didn't wait for her response as I took off out of the Great Hall.

Bolting up the stairs, I was surprised that Harry was no where to be seen, but continued on until I reached the North Tower and climbed through the trapdoor.

"Kleio!" I exclaimed, catching sight of her in an armchair, grading papers.

"Ti échei symveí?" she asked, eyes wide. _**(What has happened?)**_ "Your nose — What have you done?"

She was at my side in an instant, helping me into a seat.

"I'm fine," I insisted hurriedly. "I mean — I'm not hurt. I had a vision —"

"You have the power to See?" said Kleio at once, astonished.

"No, no!" I said, practically leaping from the seat and starting to pace. "Voldemort — he used Legilimency — he was showing me something! It was my grandad — he was hurting him . . . but I couldn't tell if it was real or not, so I — I —"

"Demetria," said Kleio critically, " _Diavázo_ is not meant to be used across sutz great distances."

"I heard something though!" I told her, and her eyes grew even wider. "Please, you've got to help me — I've got to do it again — or you! You can do it!"

"You are not listening," said Kleio gravely. "It cannot be done."

"I just did it!" I urged.

"Then it was an aprosdókiti epitychía," she dismissed, though her expression still conveyed a sense of shock. _**(unexpected success)**_ "What do you call — a fluke."

"There's something you're not telling me," I said darkly.

"I am sorry," she said carefully, "but this is not something I can help you with."

"Fine," I said finitely, closing my eyes.

"Demetria, don't," Kleio barked.

But it was too late. I'd cast _Diavázo_ and was trying my absolute hardest to focus on Grandad. It had been a difficult task even during the vision, but without even being able to see him, I was really starting to hurt myself in this process. I tried picturing him standing in front of me, and I could start to hear his voice, although it was muffled as it mumbled something. But I could also feel my head growing heavy as more blood came out of my nose, and tears spilled from my eyes. None of that stopped me though, and then I finally heard something:

 _"This is it . . . This is how I die . . ."_

* * *

 _We're coming down to the wire here, guys! Only four chapters left!_

 _I do have a few chapters already done for the next installment in this series (because Demetria's story is far from over!) but I'm having some trouble writing this one. I've just been in sort of a writing funk lately, so the uploads may take some time, but thank you to everyone who is reviewing, favoriting, supporting in any way! You guys keep me motivated!  
_


	25. Chapter 24: Take Flight and Do Right

_**Chapter Twenty-Four**_

 _Take Flight and Do Right_

:.:.:

"Demetria!"

I opened my eyes and found myself in Kleio's arms, being held as though she'd just caught me from falling . . . and maybe that was happened, I didn't know, but I straightened myself up. My head was still throbbing and my balance was off, so I nearly tipped over again, but someone else grabbed me.

"Dem, are you all ri — ?" Finn looked me in the eyes and I watched horror strike his face. "What happened?!"

I pressed my hand to my eyes to wipe away the tears, but when I pulled it away, I didn't find water, but blood.

"See nearly killed herself trying to do something impossible!" Kleio scolded, absolutely livid.

"I did it!" I choked out. "I heard him! I read his mind!"

"Demetria, did you have a vision too?"

I turned toward the new voice. It was Harry — he was standing there with Ron and Hermione, both of whom were wearing an expression similar to Finn's.

"Yeah," I told him. "We have to go."

I started making my way toward the trapdoor, but was still dizzy, so Finn helped me over. Harry went down the ladder first to assist me as I climbed down next, and then the other three followed. We all quickly moved to occupy an empty classroom and shut the door behind us.

"Voldemort was in my head during the exam too," Harry filled me in. "He's got Sirius."

"He's torturing my grandad," I told him. "I dunno where — it was a huge room with shelves of —"

"— little glass balls?" Harry guessed; I nodded urgently. "It's the Department of Mysteries."

"It's the Hall of Prophecy . . ." said Finn. When we all looked to him, he said, "My step-dad works in the Ministry — the Bulgarian Ministry, but they've got a room just like that . . ."

"Prophecy . . ." I said, my mind still reeling. "You mean like Seers?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Harry, I reckon there's been prophecies made about each of us," I said insistently.

"That's what Voldemort's after?" asked Hermione.

"Two weapons — Something he didn't have last time," Harry recited the words Sirius had said to us over the summer. "How're we going to get there?"

"I dunno, but —"

Ron cut me off.

"Whoa, g-get there?"

"Get to the Department of Mysteries so we can rescue Sirius and Demetria's Grandad!" Harry said loudly.

"Harry," Hermione said in a rather frightened voice, "er . . . how . . . how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?"

"How do I know?" bellowed Harry. "The question is how _we're_ going to get in there!"

"But . . . Harry, think about this," said Hermione gently, "it's five o'clock in the afternoon . . . The Ministry of Magic must be full of workers . . . How would Voldemort and Sirius have gotten in completely undetected by Aurors?"

"Well what about Demetria's grandad?" said Harry irritably. "Is that more believable? You'll help save _him_ but not Sirius — ?"

"Harry, that's not it!" said Hermione, looking frightened yet determined. "I'm trying to say — Voldemort knows you! He took Ginny down to the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the — the sort of person who'd go to Sirius's aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst — ?"

"Hermione, they've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anyone left from the Order at Hogwarts who we can tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!"

"But Harry — what if your dream was — was just that, a dream?"

"I read my grandfather's mind," I said confidently. "He was thinking about how he's going to die soon. If what I saw is real, then Harry's could be too. Now, we can't rescue my grandad, but —"

"What? Of course we can!" Harry insisted. "We just need a way out of here!"

And then something clicked in my head. _A way out_.

"You're right," I said darkly. Finn eyed me curiously.

Something else clicked then too — the classroom door opened. Ginny walked in, looking curious, followed by Luna, who as usual looked as though she had drifted in accidentally.

"Hi," said Ginny uncertainly. "We recognized Harry's voice — what are you — Demetria, what happened?"

I could've only imagined what I looked like with dried blood around my nose and eyes.

"It's nothing, Gin," I assured her, keeping my irritation in check.

"What's going on?" she pressed.

"Never you mind," said Harry roughly.

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"There's no need to take that tone with me," she said coolly. "I was only wondering whether I could help."

"Well, you can't," said Harry shortly.

"You're being rather rude, you know," said Luna serenely.

Harry swore and turned away.

"Wait," said Hermione suddenly. "Wait . . . Harry, they _can_ help. Listen, Harry, what if we used Umbridge's fire to try and contact Sirius to see whether or not Voldemort is trying to lure you —"

"Do what you have to, but he's got my grandfather and I know that for a fact," I said determinedly.

"Who's got your grandfather?" said Ginny, concerned.

I said "Voldemort" at the same time Ron said "Don't worry about it."

"He's got Sirius too," Harry said, "and if Demetria's going to save her grandad, I'm going too. I'm not waiting around any longer."

"Looks as though we're going whether he's really got Sirius or not," Ron said indifferently to Hermione.

"There's just one problem," she said. "I can't see how we're going to get there."

We all fell silent for a moment until Luna spoke up.

"Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?" she said in the closest thing to a matter-of-fact voice I'd ever heard her use.

"Okay," said Harry irritably, rounding on her, "to be clear, 'we' aren't doing anything if you're including yourself in that."

"Besides, Ron, Demetria, and I are the only ones with brooms," Finn pointed out.

"I've got a broom!" said Ginny.

"Yeah, but you're not coming," said Ron angrily.

"Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!" said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.

"You're too —" Harry began.

"I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Sorcerer's Stone," she said fiercely.

"We want to help," said Luna, smiling happily.

"Or was everything we learned in the D.A. for nothing?" Ginny challenged.

But when no one answered, I grew tired of standing around while Grandad was in danger.

"Feel free to argue over this all night," I said, moving for the door, "I'm taking my broom and going alone if I must."

"I'm coming with you," said Harry at once, the two of us leaving the room together.

"We're _all_ coming with you," Ginny corrected.

"We've only got three broomsticks!" said Harry frustratedly as we all continued along the corridor.

"There are other ways of flying than with broomsticks," said Luna serenely.

"I s'pose we're going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?" Ron demanded.

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can't fly," said Luna in a dignified voice, "but we have creatures on the grounds that can, and Hagrid says they're very good at finding places their riders are looking for."

 _Creatures on the grounds that_. . . .

"Luna, you're brilliant!" I said as I led the lot to the ground floor and out onto the lawn.

Harry seemed to've caught on as well and was racing alongside me as we neared the Forbidden Forest, and didn't stop until we saw them, their white eyes gleaming eerily. Harry and I approached the two thestrals, patting their long manes.

"Is it those mad horse things?" said Ron uncertainly, staring at a point slightly to the left of the thestral Harry was patting. "Those ones you can't see unless you've watched someone snuff it?"

"To put it delicately," I teased sarcastically.

"How many?"

"Just two," Harry replied.

"Well, we need five," said Hermione, who was still looking a little shaken, but determined just the same.

"Six, Hermione," said Ginny, scowling.

"I think there are seven of us, actually," said Luna calmly, counting.

"Don't be stupid, we can't all go!" said Harry angrily. "Look, you two" — he pointed at Ginny and Luna — "you're not involved in this, you're not —"

They burst into more protests, and I didn't have time for it.

"Fine, you can come!" I said. "But we have to go _now_."

"It's your choice," Harry said curtly, giving in as well. "But unless we can find more thestrals you're not going to be able —"

"Oh, more of them will come," said Ginny confidently, who like Ron was squinting in quite the wrong direction, apparently under the impression that she was looking at the horses.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because Demetria's covered in blood," she said coolly, "and we know Hagrid lures thestrals with raw meat . . ."

"All right, then here — my blood's all over the sleeves," I said, pulling off my robe and wiping off my face for good measure before tossing it to Ginny. "Harry and I will take these two and go ahead, and you lot can wait 'till that attracts more thestrals —"

"I'm not staying behind!" Finn, Hermione, and Ron all chorused.

"There's no need," said Luna, smiling. "Look, here come more now . . . Demetria, you must really smell . . ."

I turned and saw no more than six or seven thestrals picking their way through the trees now, their great leathery wings folded tight to their bodies, eyes gleaming through the darkness.

"All right," said Harry angrily, "pick one and get on, then."

I wound my hand tightly into the mane of the thestral I'd been patting and Harry gave me a boost up onto the horse's silken back. I then watched Harry place his foot on a stump nearby and scramble clumsily onto the back of the thestral nearest mine. Once he'd done so, he lodged his knees behind the wing joints and when I followed suit, I felt much more secure. I looked to the others and found Luna already in place, sitting sidesaddle and adjusting her robes as though she did this every day (and who knows, maybe she did). Finn, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, however, were still standing motionless on the spot, openmouthed and staring.

"How exactly d'you expect us to get on?" asked Finn.

"Yeah, we can't even see the things," Ron added faintly.

"Oh it's easy," said Luna, sliding obligingly from her thestral and marching over to the two of them, Hermione, and Ginny. "Come here . . ."

She pulled them over to the other thestrals standing around and one by one managed to help them onto the backs of their mounts. All four looked extremely nervous as she wound their hands into the horses' manes and told them to grip tightly before getting back onto her own steed.

"This is mad," Ron said feebly, moving his free hand gingerly up and down the thestral's neck. "Mad . . . if I could just see it —"

"You'd better hope it stays invisible," said Harry darkly, and I had to agree. "We all ready, then?" We all nodded and Harry looked down at this thestral. "Okay . . . Ministry of Magic, visitors' entrance, London, then. Er . . . if you know . . . where to go . . ."

For a moment nothing happened, but then, with a sweeping movement, the wings on either side of everyone's thestrals extended, the horses crouching slowly and then rocketing upward so fast and so steeply that I had to clench my arms and legs tightly around it to avoid sliding off. I continued to hold on for dear life as we burst through the topmost branches of the trees and soared out into a bloodred sunset.

There was something far more thrilling about riding on the back of a thestral rather than a broomstick. Perhaps it was the speed — I don't reckon I'd ever moved so fast. The thestral streaked over the castle, then we were over Hogwarts grounds, next we passed Hogsmeade.

"This is bizarre!" I heard Ron yell from somewhere behind me. And it probably was bizarre to be flying along at such a great speed without being able to actually see your ride.

Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon it was only the lights of Muggle towns that gave us any clue of how far away from the ground we were or how fast we were traveling. But it didn't seem fast enough to me. The last time I'd seen Grandad, he was barely hanging on. Surely, we were already too late . . .

I willed my thestral to go even faster, and it wasn't long before the horse had suddenly pointed its head toward the ground as we finally began descending. I heard one of the girls shriek behind me and twisted around to see if we'd lost anyone, but everyone was accounted for.

And now bright orange lights were growing larger and rounder on all sides. I could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows. Quite suddenly, it seemed, we were hurtling toward the pavement. I'd been bracing for a sudden impact, arms still wrapped fiercely around the thestral, but the horse touched the dark ground as lightly as a shadow and I immediately slid from its back and saw Harry do the same.

"Never again," said Ron, having just landed a short way away and toppled onto the pavement. He'd gotten to his feet but went to walk away from the thestral and ended up colliding with its arse. "Never, ever again . . . that was the worst —"

"I rather enjoyed it," I said airily.

"I'm sure it's far more pleasant when you can actually see what you're flying on," said Finn as he landed near me, sliding off his thestral with a bit more finesse than Ron. Hermione and Ginny also made rather graceful dismounts from their horses, and Luna's was smooth as well.

"Where do we go from here, then?" she asked in a politely interested voice.

"Over here," said Harry, leading the way to a battered telephone box and opening the door. Finn and I had followed straight away, but the others seemed hesitant. "Come _on_!" he urged them.

Ron and Ginny marched in obediently; Hermione and Luna squashed themselves in after them, and Harry was the last to enter.

"Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial 6-2-4-4-2!" he instructed.

Finn did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial. As it whirred back into place a cool female voice sounded inside the box, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

I groaned; We didn't have time for this!

"Demetria Harris, Harry Potter, Finn Archer, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood — on a rescue mission and in a bit of a rush, if you don't mind," I said in one breath.

"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."

Half a dozen badges slid out of a metal chute and Hermione scooped them up, handing them out mutely.

 **DEMETRIA HARRIS**

 **Rescue Mission**

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Yes, lovely, can't wait!" I said loudly. "As I said, we're in a bit of a rush!"

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past the glass windows of the telephone box. The scavenging thestrals were sliding out of sight, blackness closed over their heads, and with a dull grinding noise we sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening," said the woman's voice.

The door of the telephone box burst open; Harry toppled out of it first and I was the last to leave. I could feel Finn eyeing me darkly as he had been doing for the entirety of the telephone box ride, but I continued to act as though I hadn't noticed.

"Come on," said Harry quietly and the seven of us sprinted off down the hall, Harry in the lead, Finn and I bringing up the rear. He continued to stare at me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I knew that he knew something was going on with me . . . but I didn't want to tell him what I'd decided back at Hogwarts.

 _A way out_.

We passed by a deserted security desk, through golden gates and into the lifts. Harry pressed the nearest down button and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately, the golden grilles sliding apart with a great, echoing clanking; we all dashed inside. When Harry pressed another button and the grilles closed, the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling.

"Department of Mysteries," said the cool female voice when the lift halted.

The grilles slid open again and we stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

"Let's go," whispered Harry, leading the way down the corridor. This was, after all, the room he'd seen a thousand times in his dreams.

Luna was right behind him, and everyone else kept close as well, but Finn grabbed my arm and pulled me back a bit so we were trailing behind the group.

"What are you doing?" he whispered so quietly that sound didn't even actually come out for every word.

I pulled my visitor's badge from my pocket; Finn's brows furrowed.

"Okay, listen," said Harry, stopping within six feet of a black door. "Maybe . . . maybe a couple of people should stay here as a — as a lookout, and —"

"And how're we going to let you know something's coming?" said Ginny, her eyebrows raised. "You could be miles away."

"We're coming with you, mate," said Ron firmly. "Let's get on with it."

When Harry had swung open the door and began leading the others through its threshold, Finn held me back again.

" _What are you doing_?" he whispered slowly, with emphasis.

"I can't explain now," I replied in just as low of a murmur.

We were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling — identical, unmarked, handle-less black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was dark water underfoot.

"Someone shut the door," Harry muttered.

I went to do so, but the moment I did, I could see how bad of an idea it was. Without the sliver of light spilling in from the corridor behind us, the room we were in became so dark that for a moment the only things that could be seen were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and our ghostly reflections in the floor below. But suddenly, there was a great rumbling noise and the candles began to move sideways. The circular room was rotating. For a few seconds the blue flames around us were blurred to resemble neon lines as the wall sped up around us, but then the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron fearfully.

"I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in from," said Ginny in a hushed voice.

"Where do we go then, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I don't —" Harry began. "In the dreams I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room — that's this one — and then I went through another door into a room that kind of . . . glitters. We should try a few doors," he said hastily. "I'll know the right way when I see it. C'mon."

He marched straight at the door now facing us and swung it open. Inside, there were lamps hanging low on golden chains from the ceiling and a few desks scattered around. In the very middle of the room, there was an enormous glass tank of deep-green water, big enough for all of us to swim in, which contained a number of pearly white objects that were drifting around lazily in the liquid.

"What're those things?" whispered Ron.

"Brains," said Finn uneasily with a shudder.

" _Brains_?" said Luna.

"Yes," said Hermione, sounding odd. "I wonder what they're doing with them . . . You really know quite a bit about the Department of Mysteries, don't you?"

"Sort of, but not really," Finn admitted. "My step-dad used to tell me stories about this place when I was really young — didn't go into detail or anything, but I remember him talking about the glowing room with a tank full of brains . . ."

"Who could forget . . ." said Ron darkly, eyeing the green water with disgust.

"Yeah, I was only nine," said Finn ominously.

"Let's get out of here," said Harry. "This isn't right, we need to try another door —"

"There are doors here too," said Ron, pointing around the walls.

"In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one," Harry said. "I think we should go back and try from there."

We all hurried back into the dark, circular room.

"Wait!" said Hermione sharply. " _Flagrate!_ "

She drew with her wand in midair and a fiery X appeared on the door. No sooner had the door clicked shut behind them than there was a great rumbling, and once again the wall began to revolve very fast, but now there was a great red-gold blur in amongst the faint blue, and when all became still again, the fiery cross still burned, showing the door that we'd already tried.

"This is taking too long," I said desolately.

"Here, let's try this one," said Harry, striding to the new that was facing us and opened it.

This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the center of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet below us. There was a raised stone dais in the center of the lowered floor, and upon this dais stood a stone archway that looked so ancient and cracked, it appeared as though it might crumble any second. It was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.

"Merlin's beard," breathed Finn incredulously.

"Who's there?" said Harry, jumping down onto the bench below. There was no answer.

"Harry," said Finn carefully, "it's the Veil . . ."

Everyone looked to Finn for further explanation, myself included.

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'going beyond the veil'?" he asked; silence. "It's — er — the land between the living and the dead . . ."

Grandad could've been behind that veil right then and there. The closer I got to this Veil, the more I could hear what I was sure Harry must've heard — voices, whispering voices. I thought for a split second it was just my mind-reading, but it soon became very clear to me that the voices were coming from the Veil.

I couldn't help but think of how many people I'd lost, and how many more I was sure to lose because this war was far from over. How many more innocent people would suffer? How many more would die? How many because of me . . . ? I thought of Cedric for the first time in what felt like a long time . . . how I'd pushed him to the back of my mind. I was once so haunted by his memory that I couldn't even hear his name without crying, and yet, I'd moved on . . . sort of — I don't reckon it's something you can ever truly and fully recover from — losing someone.

But I was determined not to lose another person that night. I was prepared to do whatever it took, and I knew what it would take. Grandad needed a way out — a way out of his Unbreakable Vow. I was going to free him of it, I was going to do right by him.

"Let's keep moving," I said, but Harry didn't move from his spot right in front of the Veil. "Harry, let's go," I said a bit more forcefully.

Finn had to actually give Harry a bit of a tug on his arm to get him going.

"Sorry," he said quietly, finally walking away. "I thought I heard —"

"— the voices of the ones who've passed," said Finn.

"Your step-dad told you all of this at _nine_ years old?" Ginny asked.

"Yep, that sounds like Ivan," I said.

Hermione placed another fiery X upon the door as we waited for the wall spin to finish. Once it had, Harry approached a door at random and pushed it but it didn't move.

"What's wrong?" said Hermione.

"It's . . . locked . . ." said Harry, throwing his weight at the door which didn't budge.

"This is it, then, isn't it?" said Ron excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. "Bound to be!"

"Get out of the way!" said Hermione sharply; the blokes obeyed. " _Alohomora!_ "

Nothing happened.

"Dem, your Light can break down the door, can't it?" said Finn hopefully. "It did last year."

"Not the most stealthy approach . . ." I said.

"I reckon it's our only option," said Harry. "I haven't got Sirius's knife."

"This can't be the right room anyway," Hermione said decisively. "Harry could get through all the doors in his dream." She marked the door with another fiery cross.

"You know what could be in there?" said Luna eagerly, as the wall started to spin yet again.

"Something blibbering, no doubt," said Hermione under her breath.

The wall slid back to a halt and Harry pushed the next door open.

" _This is it_!"

Harry had certainly been right — this room glittered. There was a beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light filling it, with clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place.

"This way!"

Harry led the way forward down a narrow space between the lines of desks, heading for the source of the diamond-bright light, a crystal bell jar quite as tall as he was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of billowing, glittering wind.

"Oh _look_!" said Ginny, indicating to the bell jar.

I didn't pay it any mind, however. We were finally on the right track and nothing was going to distract me or stand in my way.

"Keep going!" said Harry sharply, obviously feeling the same way.

"You dawdled enough by that old arch!" she said crossly, but following.

"This is it," Harry said as we reached the only door behind the bell jar. "It's through here —"

We'd all drawn our wands as Harry pushed the door open, revealing the room I'd seen in my vision: high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Just like in the circular room, they burned blue.

"You said it was row ninety-seven," Hermione whispered to Harry.

"Yeah," he breathed.

Looking up at the closest row, beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles portruding from it, I saw the silver figure 53. My heart skipped; my row was close.

"We need to go right, I think," whispered Hermione, squinting to the next row. "Yes . . . that's fifty-four . . ."

"Keep your wands out," Harry said softly.

We crept forward, working our way along the shelves, but it wasn't long before we reached the silver figure 64.

"This is me," I said.

"I'll stay back with her," Finn offered. "You all go on."

"I can stay too," Ginny offered.

"Thanks, Gin, but it's all right," he assured her. "This'll just be a second."

Ginny nodded and continued on with the others as they headed for row 97.

"He's not here," I said quietly, eyes scanning the yellowing labels under each orb for my own. "I guess I sort of figured . . . They must have him somewhere else now — we must be too late —"

"Demetria," said Finn sternly, in a hushed voice. "Why. Are. We. Here?"

I still refused to look at him, and instead kept my eyes on the shelf when I said, "Grandad struck an Unbreakable Vow with Dolohov that I would join the Death Eaters when I was of-age."

My name was still no where to be found.

"So if your grandad's going to die no matter wha —" Finn stopped, understanding. I knew I wouldn't've had to tell him. " _Demetria_."

"Don't try and talk me out of it, Finn," I said finitely. "My mind's made up."

"You can't!" he whispered fiercely.

"It's the only way!" I replied, and then I spotted the correct yellow label. "Found it . . ."

 **18 January, 1980**

 **M.T.F. to A.P.H.**

 **(?) Demetria Harris**

I knew instantly that A.P.H. was my father, as I recalled seeing those initials every time I opened his old broomstick servicing kit, but I didn't recognize M.T.F.

"Dem, I know you don't want to hear this," Finn began disapprovingly, "but your Grandad isn't going to live forever —"

"Finn —" I tried to shut him up.

"— and you won't exactly be able to spend time with him if you're locked up in Azkaban for life!"

"I don't need to use the Killing Curse," I said thoughtfully, reaching up and closing my fingers around the glass orb. "I can use his own spell against him . . ."

With my prophecy in my hand, I finally turned to look at Finn, his sea green eyes matching his tone and staring at me critically.

"Please try to understand," I implored, his expression softening. "Killing Dolohov is the only way . . ."

And then, there came a painfully familiar voice from behind me that said smoothly, "I'd love to see you try, Switzerland."


	26. Chapter 25: Nothing Personal

_**Chapter Twenty-Five**_

 _Nothing Personal_

:.:.:

Two black shapes emerged out of thin air, blocking Finn and I in the row of shelves. They blocked our way left and right, eyes glinting through slits in hoods.

"I'm afraid I'll be needing that," Dolohov drawled, nodding toward the glass orb in my hand.

"Where's my grandad?" I demanded.

Even if Dolohov hadn't known before that what I said to Grandad that night in the graveyard was all an act, he certainly knew now, having undoubtedly heard what I said to Finn.

"You mean the traitor?" said Avery wickedly.

"Dear old Grandad . . ." said Dolohov, smirking. "I always suspected him — that father of yours, too — but I'll be damned if you Harrises don't put on a rather convincing show."

"Where is he?" I said again.

"You won't want to rush this story, Harris — it's got quite a good ending," he sneered. "You see, I always doubted Carlisle's allegiance, but never had any proof . . . but as luck would have it, the old man started unraveling, making mistakes — all on purpose, as it turns out. He _wanted_ to be found out — found out and killed. His time was running out anyhow. I knew he was the one who tipped you off about the attack on that Muggle-loving Weasley . . ."

"And that was _all_ the proof you needed?" I said mockingly.

"Oh no, y'see, I haven't gotten to my favorite part yet," he said fervently, wicked grin still in place. "It happened nearly a year ago but I just haven't had the chance to tell you, though I've certainly been meaning to — Nauchikh nov ezik." _**(I learned a new language)**_

My heart sunk. He knew the whole time.

"Where. Is. He."

"Well we couldn't very well just leave him here," Dolohov continued to speak as though this were a casual conversation, though his face was twisted up with so much pleasure, I could tell he was really enjoying this moment. "He would've ruined everything for you. But luckily for you, I am not unreasonable — unlike Bellatrix — Oh, I do not envy Potter right now . . ."

I turned to try and catch a glimpse of the others from down the row, but it was useless. Not only was row ninety-seven much too far away, but Finn and I were still being blocked.

"I can offer _you_ a way out," Dolohov continued, silkily. "Give me the prophecy, and I will give you your grandfather, so that the two of you may enjoy his last — _very_ few — days together."

"You'll just let me walk out of here, alive?" I asked in disbelief. "What about him?" I gestured to Finn who'd taken a protective stance beside me. "What about Harry and the others?"

"I will spare both you and your friend," said Dolohov. "Potter and the other children, however — that depends entirely on his cooperation."

"How do I even know you haven't killed Carlisle already?" I said severely.

"You don't trust me, Harris?" he said, feigning sadness, and then he gave a sinister laugh as I continued to glare silently at him. "Fair enough, I suppose. Carlisle _is_ still alive, though just barely — Avery?"

Avery retrieved what appeared to be a small handheld mirror from his cloak and said to it, "Carlisle Harris." He then held it up to face me, but instead of my reflection, I saw Grandad. He was huddled up in the fetal position on the ground, looking even worse than when I'd seen him in the fire. But not only did he appear withered and pale, he was also bloody . . . bleeding . . . He clutched a wound on his chest.

"Where is he?" I choked out.

"Don't go all emotional on me, Harris — its quite unbecoming," Dolohov spat. He gestured for Avery to put away the mirror. "Now, hand over the prophecy and I will take you to him. You _will_ need my help — it is a rather tough door to open."

 _A rather tough door to open?_ I mused. _It can't be . . ._

It was the door Harry couldn't open, the door _Alohomora_ wouldn't work on — I knew it was. We'd been right there . . . I could've . . . But then I realized there wasn't anything I could've done, because I still would've had to find Dolohov.

"You know what?" I said. "I think I _will_ hand over the prophecy . . . _but_ I'd like to hand it over to my good friend, Finn, here."

And so very quickly and carefully, that was exactly what I did. I could tell by his expression that Finn wasn't sure why I'd given it to him, but he held it securely in his hand. Avery and Dolohov both retrieved their wands, as did Finn and I.

"I'd be careful if I were you," I said gravely. "One wrong hex and Finn might just drop your precious prophecy. Voldemort wouldn't be too pleased with that, would he?"

"You have no idea what that prophecy holds," said Avery tauntingly.

And the truth was that I didn't, but I had a fairly good idea.

"Just one question then," I said. "Why is it you two haven't attacked me?"

Dolohov and Avery were both silent and still for a moment, but the next, Dolohov tried to place me in the Full Body-Bind Curse.

" _Protego!_ " I said in the nick of time, and then waited for one of them to make another move which didn't come.

"Oh come on, gents — you can do better than that," I said, Finn eyeing me as though I'd lost it. "But you'd best not do too much. After all, you need me alive — I'm the catalyst . . ." I repeated the word I'd heard whilst reading Snape's mind, something my father had called me, and judging by the looks on Avery and Dolohov's faces, I was right.

Voldemort was not after the Light of any Lumen, he wanted my Light, specifically. And although I was led to believe Finn's theory that it was simply based on revenge, I was starting to think otherwise. Between the control I possessed over my Light before Kleio even trained me in actually using it, and then my doing what she claimed was impossible, it was quite clear that my Light was rather powerful — _I_ was rather powerful.

" _REDUCTO!_ " I heard the others shout, followed by the crashing of shelves and glass orbs. I used the slight distraction to think _Fos_ , and quickly placed my wand between my teeth so that both of my hands were free to send a blast of Light to both Dolohov and Avery.

Retrieving my wand from my mouth, I told Finn, "Run!" as the two Death Eaters flew backwards.

"I'm not leaving you!" he shouted, holding the prophecy close to him with one hand and keeping his wand directed at Avery with the other.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I said, sending Dolohov's wand flying out of his hand. "Finn, they'll kill you!"

"I've got the prophecy!" he countered. " _Expelliarmus!_ " Avery was Disarmed as well.

We heard footsteps rushing toward us, but didn't have time to wonder who it was because they were suddenly rushing past us. It was Harry and Hermione, but when they noticed Finn and I, they turned back.

"Demetria, Finn, come on!" Harry urged.

"You go on, Harry!" I insisted, readying my wand as Dolohov retrieved his. "I'm not done here!"

" _Stupe_ —"

" _Protego!_ " I blocked another spell from Dolohov. "Go, I'll be fine!"

"Hermione, go!" Harry instructed.

"Are you — ?"

"Don't argue!" he said. "They'll kill you if they get the chance — go to the others!"

I groaned. Harry's hero complex was getting in the way of my agenda. And though reluctant, Hermione headed for the door through which we'd entered, but it wasn't long until we were joined by a few others.

"Well, well, well," drawled Lucius Malfoy. "Isn't this lovely? Just the two people I was looking for."

Harry, Finn, and I had huddled together, backs to one another and wands outstretched in front of us. Among Lucius, I also recognized Walden Macnair, Barton Crabbe, and Nigel Mulciber.

"Harry, I can't find the others!" shouted Hermione, running back into the room.

"Hermione, get ba —" I started, but Dolohov was quicker.

" _Occidere Ferio!_ "

A streak of purple flame flew toward Hermione, and since she hadn't been expecting it, she couldn't protect herself in time. The flame passed right across her chest; she gave a tiny "oh!" as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor where she lay motionless.

"HERMIONE!" Harry cried, rushing over to her; the Death Eaters started to advance on him.

 _Fos_!

My hands were outstretched once again, and I created a blast of Light large enough to knock every Death Eater on their backs, flying back a few feet.

"Is she — ?" Finn started.

"There's a pulse!"

"Harry, take her and go!" I ordered. "Find the others!"

I whipped around and saw Finn helping to hoist Hermione's limp form over Harry's shoulders, before readying my wand and turning back to give the two of them cover.

" _EXPELLIARMUS!_ " I cried, Disarming three advancing Death Eaters with one hit.

"Gentle with those two!" Lucius ordered. "They have the prophecies!"

"And the Dark Lord needs the precious Lumen alive!" Avery shouted mockingly.

With _Fos_ , I sent a bolt of Light from my left hand, directed only at Avery. But instead of sending him backwards, I started closing my fingers into a sort of almost-fist and dragged it across the air, sending him flying into shelves of prophecies.

" _STUPEFY!_ "

Finn and Harry were now back on their feet, fighting Death Eaters with me.

" _Occidere Ferio!_ " I shouted.

I was hoping to catch Dolohov off-guard, but he'd been watching me, waiting for me, and he blocked the curse.

" _Oh come on, Harris_ — _you can do better than that_!" Dolohov mocked. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

" _Protego!_ "

His curse bounced off my shield, and when I tried to send the same curse back, he blocked it as well. For a second, I'd forgotten that Dolohov and I were not the only people in the room, but I was reminded of that fact when I heard someone shout from behind me: " _Stupefy!_ "

" _Protego!_ " I cried, whipping around and stopping Mulciber. And I knew Dolohov would take advantage of my back being turned, but I couldn't turn mine on Mulciber, so I attempted something . . .

 _Aspída_!

My free hand was outstretched in Dolohov's direction, and my wand-wielding hand in Mulciber's. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

And perhaps it was _"another" fluke_ , as Kleio would've said, but it seemed more like the translation: unexpected success. I'd blocked myself from whatever hex or curse Dolohov tried to toss my way, and rendered Mulciber immobile as he fell to the ground. That was when I noticed that Dolohov and I _were_ the only two left in the room . . . or at least we would be once Finn and Harry had completely left the room, the other four Death Eaters pursuing them.

"Alone at last," said Dolohov wickedly.

Our wands were outstretched as we moved around one another carefully. He continued to try and subdue me, and I continued to hit him with his own curse and kill him. Neither one of us had succeeded so far. Finally, Dolohov stopped.

"Y'know, Harris, as fun as this has been, I'm afraid I've grown tired of trying to reason with you. I reckon it might just be best to put Carlisle out of his miser —" " _OCCIDERE FERIO!_ "

The purple flame from my wand finally hit Dolohov, though just barely, as he was rather quick. He only faltered for a moment, but I went to hit him again immediately after.

" _Occidere Ferio!_ "

" _Protego!_ "

He blocked the curse and then ran off into the room with the bell jar; I followed right at his heels.

 _FOS_!

But I realized that was a mistake, as I'd knocked him off his feet, but sent him flying through the room with all of the clocks. He was one step closer to Grandad now, as he slid straight into a grandfather clock. My Light had also knocked over the contents of a glass cabinet; variously shaped hourglasses were now falling to the ground and shattering, but then springing back up, fully mended, only to do it all over again.

I followed Dolohov as he got to his feet and hurried behind the door of the Time Room, shutting it behind him. By the time I'd reached it and opened it, the wall was in the middle of its rotation, a blur of Dolohov standing still in the middle. I didn't wait for the spinning to stop, simply jumped out of the door and rolled, but when I went to get up, someone else was already helping me do so. I twisted my head around to find Avery, who I assumed must've followed me. His face was rather cut up and bloody from crashing into the glass orbs, and he was looking at me with the most sinister of expressions, madness in his eyes.

I struggled to break free of his hold as he forced my hands behind my back, but it was no use. He bounded my wrists together with an enchanted rope of some kind, and I knew this because not even my Light could break free of it.

"Impressive, isn't it?" he said darkly. "A little something they use to keep dragons under control."

It was undoubtedly Dragonclaw, and I was trapped. Avery continued to keep a tight grip on my wrists even though my hands were tied behind me, and Dolohov was tinkering with one of the black doors. It swung open, the room radiating with a pink glow which appeared to be coming from a large and elaborate fountain flowing with pink liquid, steam spiraling from it. But what was most strange was the scent wafting from this fountain. Somehow it reminded me simultaneously of the woody smell of a broomstick handle, freshly-brewed coffee, and something ambery . . . like . . .

"George?!" I called out in a panic. Avery laughed wickedly behind me.

But when Dolohov returned into the circular hallway with someone in his grasp, it wasn't George.

"Grandad!"

I didn't think it would've been possible, but he looked even worse than when I'd seen him in the mirror not long ago. Dolohov pushed him to the ground and shut the door behind him, the wall rotating again. I wriggled free of Avery's grasp and rushed to Grandad, though my hands were still bound, and dropped to my knees beside him.

"Grandad!" I said.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and looked up to meet my eyes.

"Demetria," he said softly, his hand rushing to clutch his wound. "I am . . . so sorry . . . for everything . . ."

"That's enough, old man," hissed Avery, forcing Grandad to his feet. "We should join the others," he then said to Dolohov. "Give this traitor a death like Turner."

"Turner?" I parroted, my heart dropping. Benjamin was a good man . . . but I suppose that was why they killed him.

Dolohov laughed and pulled me off the ground, forcing me forward with him as he opened a black door, revealing the Brain Room.

"Turner was a thorn in our side since he joined," he said. "His death was long overdue."

"And when Bellatrix rejoined us, she saw through him straightaway," said Avery wickedly, practically dragging Grandad behind us. "She didn't waste any time getting rid of him."

I couldn't believe Benjamin was gone . . .

There were a number of other doors behind the green tank which held the brains, and almost all of them were still open. I also saw Hermione's body left carelessly on the floor, along with Luna's across the room. Ginny was clearly injured but was trying to pull the tentacles of one of the brains off of Ron. I moved to help them, but Dolohov pulled me closer to him.

"If you cooperate, I'll leave them be," he whispered to me.

"Why should I believe that?" I said scathingly.

But Dolohov didn't answer me. Instead, he stood in the middle of all of the doors and shouted, "OY! WE'VE GOT HARRIS!"

"IN HERE, DOLOHOV!" shouted a voice I recognized belonged to Chadwick Jugson.

Dolohov followed Jugson's voice to one of the doors and then pushed me through it. And though I'd been expecting to roll on the ground, I quickly discovered that there was no ground — I was falling until I suddenly collided with something hard.

I could hear the Death Eaters laughing as I continued fall down stone step after stone step, bouncing on every tier until at last, I landed on my side in the sunken pit, my shoulder taking the blow. Near me, in front of the dais, stood Harry and Finn, back-to-back, in front of the Veil, and as I sat up, I saw the Death Eaters surrounding the room, including three I hadn't seen before: Augustus Rookwood and the Lestranges — Rodolphus and Bellatrix. I couldn't suppress a shudder as it rolled through my body.

"Perfect timing," said Lucius smoothly. "Potter and your friend here were just about to hand over the prophecies."

But it didn't look as though either one was going to be doing anything of the sort.

"What is _he_ doing here?" shrieked Bellatrix, as she gestured to Grandad, Avery dropping him on the ground in front of me. But her expression switched to that of sinister pleasure when Avery raised his eyebrows to her and smirked. She understood what was about to happen, as did I.

"If you spare him, I'll give you the prophecy!" I shouted.

"Why should I believe that?" Dolohov quoted me mockingly, before giving a dark chortle. "You had your chance to negotiate, Harris, and I'm afraid that time has passed. But don't worry, I will make this quick . . . just as I always have . . . which reminds me, I reckon there's something you should know — something you _both_ should know."

He looked between Grandad and I with a grin so wide and so evil, I knew I didn't want to hear whatever he was about to say.

"But before I tell you, I want you to understand . . . it was nothing personal . . ."

My eyes widened as I saw the end of a dream I once had play out in my head. I relived the death of my mother — a hooded figure had cooed, "It's nothing personal" to me when I was a baby, and then turned to my mother, lying helpless on the floor, and killed her.

"I was the one who killed Lucy and Aiden Harris!" declared Dolohov triumphantly. Death Eaters around the room gave cheers.

"You — _You_ —" Grandad murmured, but he wasn't looking at Dolohov, he was looking at Lucius. "You never . . . told me . . . _He killed my son_! You bastard — !"

Avery slapped Grandad across the face and he shrunk back to the ground. I didn't say a word . . . I simply sat there silently on my knees, glaring at Dolohov, wanting more than ever to end his life.

"It feels _great_ to finally get that off my chest!" he said fervently. "Now, where were we . . . ?"

I got to my feet as he took his time walking over to Grandad, wand pointed right at him.

" _Avada_ —"

I charged at him and knocked my body into his, pushing us both to the ground. And at the very same moment, high above us, two doors burst open, six people sprinting into the room: Remus, Kleio, Sirius, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley.

All of the Death Eaters were now distracted by the Order members (which I hadn't realized Kleio was a part of), who were now raining spells down upon them as they jumped from step to step toward the sunken floor. Harry and Finn both dove to the ground as well, crawling over to me.

"Are you okay?" Harry yelled, freeing me from my binds.

"Yeah, fine," I insisted. "What about you two?"

"Few cuts and bruises, but otherwise fine," Finn assured me.

My hands were freed just as a spell came hurtling toward us. We all leapt out of the way as it hit the stone floor between us, leaving a crater which separated me from Harry, Finn, and Grandad, who remained crumpled on the ground, writhing in pain.

Avery was making his way toward them. I reached for my wand in my back pocket but didn't find it, realizing I must've dropped it when jumping through the door as the wall was rotating. But there wasn't any time to summon it, so I sent a bolt of Light from my palm, pushing Avery into one of the tiers just as he was about to grab for Harry.

Harry, having just turned and realized what happened, shouted "Thanks!" to me.

I gave him a nod and said, " _Accio Wand!_ "

But my wand hadn't yet reached my hand when Dolohov came up from behind me and cried, " _Petrificus Tot_ —"

" _EXPELLIARMUS!_ "

My wand flew into my hand just as Finn had Disarmed Dolohov for me.

"Thanks, but you two've got to get out of here," I told him urgently.

Dolohov had just retrieved his wand when Sirius hurtled out of nowhere, ramming Dolohov with his shoulder, sending him flying out of the way.

"Demetria, you're going with them!" he ordered.

"I'm not leaving yet!" I said, wand on Dolohov. " _Occidere Ferio!_ "

But much like every other time, Dolohov was too slippery, my purple flame just barely grazing him.

"We'll protect your grandad!" Sirius assured me.

"You don't understand!" I insisted, dodging a curse from Dolohov. "There's something I have to do!"

From behind me, I heard someone shout, " _Avada_ —"

In an instant — _Fos!_ — I'd turned around and saved Grandad just in time. My Light hit Bellatrix, and as my eyes followed where she landed, I saw Tonks falling from halfway up the stone steps, her limp form toppling from stone seat to stone seat. I didn't have time to look around and find the others though, because I knew Dolohov would be sending something my way. Sure enough, I felt something streak across my face like a blunt knife, but knew I'd just barely avoided Dolohov's purple flame.

"Demetria, GO!" cried Remus, intervening. He was now duelling Dolohov as Sirius dashed to meet Bellatrix across the room.

I looked to the tiers of stone steps and saw Finn had been injured and Harry was trying to help him up toward the door, but Lucius was rushing toward them.

"HARRY!" I warned.

He whipped around, wand outstretched and shouted, " _Impedimenta!_ "

Lucius was blasted away from the two of them and smashed into the dais on which Sirius and Bellatrix were now dueling. I saw Lucius aim his wand at Finn and Harry again, but I stopped him before he could even draw breath to strike.

" _Levicorpus!_ "

A flash of green light and Lucius was dangling upside down in midair, and I quickly flicked my wand to the side, tossing him along with it, right into a stone tier. When I looked back to check on Grandad, something else caught my eye. Directly above all of us, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Some Death Eaters began scrambling, but I noticed one in particular was not as she continued to duel Sirius — Bellatrix.

I saw Sirius duck a jet of red light she'd sent his way: He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

But the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock as he lost his balance. I watched as Sirius's body curved in a graceful arc, sinking backward through the ragged black curtain of the Veil. I stood motionless . . . Sirius Black was dead . . .

Bellatrix gave a joyous scream, and that was when I turned back, remembering I was supposed to be preventing the same thing from happening to —

"NO!" I cried out.

I was too late.

There was a flash of green light and then Grandad was absolutely still on the ground, the caster standing directly over him, grinning triumphantly and looking me right in the eye. And I knew there was commotion going on around me, I could hear Harry screaming for Sirius and Bellatrix cackling, but I continued to glare at Dolohov, the man who killed the only three Harrises I'd ever had in my life.

"I'd best be off, then," he said, catching sight of Dumbledore, his smirk faltering as he started backing away.

All I could think was that I still wanted him dead . . . and that was all I cared about at the moment . . .

" _AVADA KED_ —"

"Demetria!"

Remus had grabbed me around the chest as Dolohov headed for one of the doors.

"Get off me!" I cried. "Remus, let me GO!"

"So you can run off after him and land yourself in Azkaban?" said Remus, keeping his hold around me tight.

"I'LL KILL YOU, DOLOHOV!" I roared as he rushed to climb the stone steps, avoiding other people's spells. "YOU HEAR ME? I SWEAR TO MERLIN, I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL — I'LL —"

My throat was closing, rendering me speechless. Tears spilled over as I started to sink, but Remus kept me up, as he always had, as he always would . . . he was the closest thing to actual family I had left.

I was no longer struggling against Remus's hold, but rather accepting it as he kept his arms around me. I looked to find Harry had been held back by Moody, and Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilized by invisible ropes. Kleio was attempting to revive Tonks, and Kingsley was behind the dais continuing Sirius's duel with Bellatrix. Finn was approaching slowly, limping.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly before turning to Harry. "Both of you . . ."

Harry and I didn't say anything, merely nodding our thanks. And when we looked to one another, it was almost as though our eyes did the talking for us as they spilled out sorrow and condolences.

"Let's — let's find the others," said Remus quietly. "Where are they all, Finn?" He turned away from the archway, and it sounded as though every word was causing him pain. He'd just lost one of his best friends . . . the only best friend he had left.

"They're all back there," said Finn, indicating toward the Brain Room. "They're okay — Hermione's unconscious, but we felt a pulse —"

There was a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. I saw Kingsley, yelling in pain, hit the ground. Dumbledore aimed a spell at Bellatrix as she hurried up the steps, but she deflected it.

"Potter — don't!" cried Moody, for Harry had just ripped his arm from Moody's grip.

"SHE KILLED SIRIUS!" Harry bellowed. "SHE KILLED HIM — I'LL KILL HER!"

Everyone was shouting their disapproval, yelling for him to stop, but I said nothing. After all, I'd just done the very same thing, and Remus clearly hadn't forgotten because he tightened his grip around me once Harry ran off. But I knew there wasn't any point in trying to catch Dolohov, for he was probably long gone by now. Instead, I turned to look at Grandad, his lifeless body still sprawled out on the ground. Remus, seeing this, let me go.

I walked over to Grandad and sunk to my knees beside him. I knew this day would be coming, and I'd done as Snape said and tried to prepare myself for it, but I don't reckon anything can truly prepare you for the loss of someone you love. And what made things worse, was that I'd gotten my hopes up. Back at the castle, when Harry said we had to come and rescue Sirius and Grandad, I knew Grandad couldn't be saved . . . but then I had that plan . . . . that _stupid fucking plan_. I had a glimmer of hope spark inside me and it wouldn't fade away, no matter what. Even when I saw Grandad in the mirror, when it was clear he wouldn't make it, I kept that damn hope alive. I should've known better . . . I should've known . . .

I closed Grandad's eyes.

This was not the Carlisle Harris I wanted to remember, but I knew it was the one I'd see whenever I thought of him. Sure, I'd think back to all the fun we had in Diagon Alley, or when he'd read me stories or was teaching me piano and violin . . . but I would never be able to rid myself of this sight — his face pale and withered, his chest covered in blood . . .

"Demetria, I am terribly sorry for both your loss and the fact that I must ask you to leave," came Dumbledore's calm voice. I looked up and saw him peering down at me, sorrow in his light, spectacled eyes. "Voldemort will be coming here, and it would be best if you returned to Hogwarts, where you will be safe and out of his reach."

"Er, Professor," said Finn. "Harry and I — we sort of dropped the prophecies. It was my fault — Harry had to help me because of my leg and —"

"That is quite all right, Finnick," Dumbledore assured him. "It's far better than having them fall into the wrong hands."

"D'you know what they said?" My words came out in a whisper.

Dumbledore offered a small smile and said, "There will be plenty of time to discuss that later, if you would please wait for me in my office."

I nodded and then looked down at Grandad once again, remembering something he told me when I was younger:

 _"Tria, when my time comes, don't give me a funeral," he said airily._

 _"But, Grandad_ — _" I protested._

 _"I'm serious_ — _no one'll come," he said with a laugh. "It'll just be you and Tinker, maybe a nice sŭprug if you've found one"_ — _I chuckled then too_ _ **(husband)**_ — _"but honestly, I don't need one. All I want is for you to remember me. Besides, I certainly don't need this body on display."_

 _I laughed again._

"Demetria?" said Dumbledore gently.

"There's just" — I gave a small cough, trying to clear the lump in my throat — "something he would've wanted me to do."

Dumbledore gave me a nod, and as calmly as I could, I thought _Fos_. My palms began to glow with the usual white Light, but it didn't jet out. I got to my feet and let my hands hover over Grandad until the Light had lifted him gingerly off the ground.

"Nadyavam se da se sreshtnat otnovo," I repeated the words I'd said that night in the graveyard _**(I hope to meet again)**_ "Obicham te."

I moved my hands slowly in the direction of the ancient archway until Grandad had passed through the curtain of the Veil, where he could rest safely on the other side.

"Kleio?" said Dumbledore.

"Yes?" said Kleio, stepping forward.

"If you would be so kind as to conjure a Portkey and bring Demetria, Finnick, and the others back to Hogwarts?"

"Right away," she said solemnly.

I started to follow Kleio and Finn to the stone tiers, but stopped and turned back to Dumbledore. "Professor? Would it . . . be all right if Remus came too?"

"I think it might be best if you were all to go," said Dumbledore, looking to the Order members. "Poppy can see to any injuries."

No one objected to that, as they all joined Kleio, Finn, and I in climbing the steps.

"How did you know to come?" I asked Remus.

"Kleio overheard you in the classroom," he explained.

"She never mentioned she was in the Order," I said, mostly to myself.

But that wasn't the only thing Kleio never mentioned to me.


	27. Chapter 26: Emotion

_**Chapter Twenty-Six**_

 _Emotion_

:.:.:

It only took a few minutes to get myself patched up, and after that, I left straight away. I didn't want to stand around with the others in the hospital wing and have to tell them what happened, thankfully though, no one asked.

The way I felt was odd and sort of indescribable. When Snape told me to prepare for Grandad's passing, I thought it couldn't be done simply because it didn't feel real to me. But now that it had happened, I felt as though I'd been ready for it all along . . . I suppose it would've hurt more if we'd kept in close contact throughout the past past year . . . It sort of felt like I lost him a long time ago. Sirius, on the other hand, I'd really only just started to know, and I knew my grief certainly couldn't compare to Harry's, but it still hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked both Remus and Kleio as we left the hospital wing and headed for Dumbledore's office.

"Tell you wh — ?"

I didn't even let Remus finish.

"Tell me that Voldemort was after me — that I was the weapon," I said gravely before looking to Kleio. "That my Light was special . . ."

"I will let Albus answer that," said Kleio blankly.

None of us spoke for the remainder of the walk, and not even when we found Harry waiting in the headmaster's office as well, which appeared to have repaired itself in Dumbledore's absence. The delicate silver instruments stood again upon the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirling serenely. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of their pictures. And no one broke the silence until the empty fireplace burst into emerald-green flame and Dumbledore unfolded himself from the fire. The witches and wizards on the surrounding walls jerked awake, many of them giving cries of welcome.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore softly.

He didn't look at anyone of us at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood.

"Kleio," said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, "how are the students?"

"All indzuries are treatable," she reported. "None will suffer lasting damage."

"I trust Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now?" he said; Kleio nodded. "Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems that she will make a full recovery."

No one said anything, but I gave a silent nod, and I thought perhaps the others did as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry unable to even look up from the carpet.

"I know how you are feeling," said Dumbledore very quietly.

I wasn't sure to which of us he was speaking, but when I looked, it seemed like it was to both of us. I still remained silent, though, although Harry finally spoke up.

"No, you don't," he said, his voice loud and strong.

"You see, Dumbledore?" said Phineas Nigellus slyly. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own —"

"That's enough, Phineas," said Dumbledore.

Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared out of the opposite window and, as I often did, I felt like the third-wheel.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore. "On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

"My greatest strength, is it?" said Harry, his voice shaking. "You haven't got a clue . . . You don't know . . ."

"What don't I know?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

Harry turned around and said, "I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —"

"THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, " _Really!_ "

"I DON'T CARE!" Harry persisted, and we all watched him as he snatched up a lunascope and threw it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE —"

Finally, I stepped in, although I knew it could be a grave mistake. Harry had just seized the table on which the silver instruments stood and was about to throw that too, until I grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Harry," I said gently, "I know how you feel . . ."

"YOU DON'T!" he shouted, pulling his arm from me and flipping the table. "YOUR GODFATHER IS STANDING RIGHT THERE — YOU —"

But Harry stopped and ran for the door, seizing the doorknob which refused to open. He turned back to Dumbledore, white-hot rage in his eyes.

"Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to foot.

"No," said Dumbledore simply.

For a few seconds they stared at each other until Harry spoke again.

"Let me out."

But Dumbledore repeated, "No."

"If you don't — if you keep me in here — if you don't let me —"

"By all means continue destroying my possessions," said Dumbledore serenely. "I daresay I have too many." He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, eyes still on Harry.

"Let me out," he said yet again.

"Not until I have had my say," said Dumbledore.

"Do you — do you think I want to — do you think I give a — I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear _anything_ you've got to say!"

"You will," said Dumbledore sadly. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it."

It was like watching one of those Muggle films play out. I wasn't at all involved — Remus, Kleio, and I were the audience members, watching Dumbledore and Harry, acting as though we weren't even there.

"What are you talking — ?"

"It was _my_ fault that Sirius died," said Dumbledore clearly. "Or I should say almost entirely my fault — I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever, and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding when they believe others are in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone."

"Sir . . ." I said quietly. I wanted to say something much sooner, but didn't wait to interrupt him. "It's my fault too. I was going to go to the Department of Mysteries no matter what, and even if Harry hadn't been tricked, he would've come with me . . . I think . . ."

When I looked to Harry, he gave me a firm nod.

"Please sit down, both of you," said Dumbledore.

I did, and though Harry hesitated, he walked slowly across the room and did the same.

"Am I to understand," said Phineas Nigellus slowly, "that my great-great-grandson — the last of the Blacks — is dead?"

"Yes, Phineas," said Dumbledore.

"I don't believe it," he said brusquely before marching out of his portrait, undoubtedly to visit his other one in Grimmauld Place.

"I owe you both explanations," said Dumbledore. "Harry, I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young . . . and I seem to have forgotten lately . . ."

The sun could be seen rising through the window, a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his face as he spoke.

He said that fifteen years ago, he guessed that the scar upon Harry's forehead might be the sign of a connection between Harry and Voldemort, and that the scar could give Harry warnings when Voldemort was close to him or felt a powerful emotion. More recently, Dumbledore became concerned that Voldemort might realize that connection existed, and it was clear that he had. Dumbledore believed it wouldn't be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into Harry's mind, to manipulate and misdirect his thoughts, but Dumbledore didn't want to be the one to teach Harry Occlumency due to the fact that Voldemort might see the close relationship they had and seized the chance to spy on Dumbledore. Ultimately, Dumbledore had been trying to distance himself from Harry in order to protect him.

"Snape stopped giving me Occlumency lessons!" Harry snarled. "He threw me out of his office!"

"I am aware of it," said Dumbledore heavily. "I have already said that it was a mistake for me not to teach you myself, though I was sure, at the time, that nothing could have been more dangerous than to open your mind even further to Voldemort while in my presence —"

"Snape made it worse, my scar always hurt worse after lessons with him — How do you know he wasn't trying to soften me up for Voldemort, make it easier for him to get inside my —"

"I trust Severus Snape," said Dumbledore simply, and if he hadn't said it, I was going to. "But I forgot — another old man's mistake — that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father — I was wrong."

Harry was silent for a moment more, but then blamed Dumbledore for keeping Sirius locked up in the house he hated. And speaking of the house one hated, Dumbledore finally told Harry why he lived with the Dursleys. I won't lie, I was rather tired and seeing as how I'd been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, I began to doze off, much like when Mr. Weasley had been attacked and I was seated in the same chair.

What I did manage to hear was that the love of Harry's mother kept him safe from Voldemort, and that love lived on in Harry's mum's sister, so Harry was safe with the Dursleys, cruel as they were to him. I didn't tune back in until Dumbledore mentioned the prophecy. A prophecy had been made concerning Harry and Voldemort, saying that only one of them could live, and Voldemort wanted this prophecy in order to hear how to defeat Harry. Though, as it turned out, the prophecy gave no such instructions, and it also could've very well been Neville Longbottom to which the prophecy had been referring. But Voldemort could've chosen either Harry or Neville, and when he gave Harry that scar, he chose Harry.

"Demetria," said Dumbledore, pulling me from my daze, "I do apologize, but I have not forgotten about you. I feel it is important that you are both aware of each of the prophecies."

"So you — you know what mine was?" I asked.

"Sadly, I do not," said Dumbledore. "At least not verbatim. Your father heard it, you see, and he told no one but your mother and grandfather. Your mother, however, mentioned this to Kleio."

"All we know that it said for certain," said Kleio from behind me; I'd almost forgotten she was there, "was that in one month's time — from the 18th of Dzanuary, 1980 — a tzild would be born with a power that had not been seen in centuries. This power could be harnessed for good or for evil, and the tzild would be used as a weapon for either Light or Dark — See would be known as —"

"— the catalyst," I finished.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Voldemort wanted your prophecy for the same reason he wanted Harry's — to hear it in its entirety and receive instruction on how to harness your power."

"My Light," I said quietly. "A power that hadn't been seen in centuries? I don't understand — what about my mum?"

"Demetria, it remains very possible that your Light is not . . . ordinary," said Dumbledore.

I immediately turned to face Kleio.

"I knew you knew," I said angrily. "You knew my Light was special and you acted as though I were mental —"

"Demetria —" Kleio started.

"You insisted it was _impossible_ to read minds across great distances — you said it was a fluke —"

"Demetria," said Dumbledore calmly. "The truth is that we are not yet certain of anything. You reading your grandfather's mind from so far away either makes you very powerful or simply very —"

"— stupid," said Kleio darkly.

"— determined," said Dumbledore, as though he hadn't even heard Kleio. "We must continue to monitor the progress of your Light, but Kleio believes we will have a much clearer understanding of things once you have completed your pilgrimage."

"I don't suppose there's any way you could tell me about the pilgri —" I began, although I knew it was hopeless.

"No," said Kleio at once.

"Great, then I reckon we're done here," I said abruptly, getting to my feet.

"You are going to storm out of here like a tzild?" she said reprovingly.

"I'm not storming out," I said slowly.

"Why do you allow your emosons to rule you? If you continue this way, you will seriously hurt yourse —"

"What do you propose I do with my emotions?" I asked, still speaking slowly and trying to keep my frustration in check.

"Do not allow them to cloud your dzudgement," she said simply. "I am sorry to say this, Demetria, but your grandfather might still be alive if —"

"I did not just decide spur of the moment, on impulse, to go save my grandfather," I said with ferocity in my tone that I could no longer hold back. "In fact, my emotions were _so_ removed from the situation, that I was ready to accept his fate and stay right here!"

"Then why did you go?" said Kleio without a hint of anger.

"Because fifteen years ago, my grandfather made an Unbreakable Vow with Antonin Dolohov, promising that I would join the Death Eaters when I was of-age," I seethed, "and, as I'm sure you know, the only way an Unbreakable Vow can be broken is if one of the parties involved, dies."

"Demetria . . ." said Remus darkly, his eyes wide, understanding exactly where this was going.

"I didn't go to the Ministry on an emotion-driven rescue mission," I said bitingly to Kleio, looking right into her dark grey eyes. "I took a step back, weighed my options, and devised a plan — a plan to kill Antonin Dolohov, the man . . ." My anger was slowly melting into desperate frustration. "the _bastard_. . . who murdered the only three family members I've ever had! And I could've saved one! I was right there — But I let my guard down for a bloody _second_ — !"

I felt Harry reach for my arm from behind me, just as I'd done to him. Only, instead of pushing it away as he'd done, I immediately turned and pressed myself into him, wrapping my arms around him. He seemed caught off-guard for a moment, but he quickly got over it and hugged me back.

* * *

 _Only one chapter left!_


	28. Chapter 27: Homeward Bound

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven**_

 _Homeward Bound_

:.:.:

 **HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS**

 _In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more._

 _"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord_ — _well, you know who I mean_ — _is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors in Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord_ — _Thingy._

 _"We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month."_

 _The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the Wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more."_

 _Details of the events that led to the Ministry turn-around are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening._

 _Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, re-instated member of the International Confederation of Wizards, and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. He has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile the Boy Who Lived_ —

"There you are, Harry, I knew they'd drag you into it somehow," said Hermione, looking over the top of her paper.

We were all in the hospital wing listening to Hermione read the front page of the _Sunday Prophet_. Harry was sitting on the end of Ron's bed; Ginny, whose ankle had been mended in a trice by Poppy, was curled up at the foot of Hermione's bed along with myself; Finn, whose leg was all healed up and good as new, was in a chair between the two beds; and Luna, who had dropped in to visit clutching the latest edition of _The Quibbler_ , was reading the magazine upside down and apparently not taking in a word Hermione was saying.

"He's 'the Boy Who Lived' again now, though, isn't he?" said Ron darkly. "Not such a show-off maniac anymore, eh?"

He helped himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside cabinet, threw a few to the rest of us, and ripped off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There were still deep welts on his forearms from where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him.

"Yes, they're very complimentary about the both of you now," said Hermione, looking between Harry and I before scanning down the article. "' _The lone voices of truth . . . perceived as unbalanced and attention-seeking, yet never wavered in their stories . . . forced to bear ridicule and slander . . ._ ' Hmmm," she said, frowning, "I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering, though . . ."

She winced slightly and put a hand on her ribs. Dolohov's curse had done a great deal of damage though, thankfully, not as much as it could've. But still, Hermione was having to take ten different types of potion every day.

"' _You-Know-Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to four, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine . . ._ ' Well," she said, folding up the newspaper and throwing it aside, "it's certainly given them lots to write about. And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it's the one that was in _The Quibbler_ months ago . . ."

"Daddy sold it to them," said Luna vaguely. "He got a very good price for it too, so we're going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer and see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, "That sounds lovely — So anyway, what's going on in school?"

"Well, Flitwick's gotten rid of Fred and George's swamp," said Ginny. "He did it in about three seconds."

"Yeah, but he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off —" I shared.

"Why?" said Hermione, looking startled.

"Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic," said Ginny with a shrug.

"I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George," said Ron through a mouthful of chocolate.

"That's what I was thinking too," I said with a small smile.

"So has all the trouble stopped now that Dumbledore's back?" Hermione inquired.

"Definitely," said Finn, "and Filch is back to being completely miserable."

"Now that everything's settled down?" said Ron in surprise.

"Now that Umbridge is gone," said Ginny. "He keeps saying she was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts . . ."

Umbridge had tried to leave Hogwarts undetected as soon as Dumbledore returned and the news was out about Voldemort's return, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed and chased her gleefully from the premises, whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students rushed to the entrance hall to watch, and I was one of them, but it didn't lift my spirits as much as I'd hoped it would.

My feelings were still so complicated . . . At least when I was mourning the death of a loved one the previous year, it was clear-cut: one second he was alive, and the next he was gone . . . But with Grandad, he was either dead to me because I was angry with him, or I had to start thinking of him as dead in order to prepare myself. It felt as though he died multiple times throughout the past year, and I suppose part of me was waiting for him to come back to life . . .

–

"So even though Hogwarts is in Scotland, and you _live_ in Scotland, you're taking the train to England . . ." said Adrian, trying to understand the situation.

He, Finn, Daphne, Tracey, and I were all seated in a compartment on the great red steam-engine better known as the Hogwarts Express.

"Well, first of all, Demetria and I didn't get the chance to take the Hogwarts Express when we were first coming to school," Finn defended.

"I hope you didn't have your standards set too high for it," Daphne teased, "because this is it."

"It beats the journey back home from Durmstrang," Finn insisted. "And second of all, Hogwarts is way up in the North West Highlands — I live in Glasgow."

"You're still passing your city!" said Adrian, chuckling.

"Even some of us who live in England are passing our cities," Tracey chimed in. "I live up in Manchester."

I wasn't adding much to the conversation . . . or anything at all, really. I was starting to wonder where I'd be living. I didn't know if I would get Harris Manor or if it had already been taken over by the Death Eaters. Would I have to go through all of Grandad's things and give them away? How was I supposed to find out what he left me in his will, if anything?

"Dem?" Daphne asked me, pulling me from my thoughts.

But before I could even ask what I'd missed, the train was slowing to a stop. I lifted down Ares's cage and prepared my trunk, being the first one to leave the compartment, not that I was in any particular rush to get home — wherever that would be.

When I stepped onto the platform at King's Cross, Finn had caught up to me and I noticed a ticket inspector directing students toward a . . . brick wall.

"What in the . . ."

"Oh, that's right!" said Hermione, who I somehow managed to end up next to. "You two haven't been to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!"

"I've been to Platform _Nine_ ," I said. "That's where I got off from Durmstrang, because that's a real platform."

She, Harry, Ron, and Ginny all laughed.

"Seems your brother thinks it's real, Finn," said Ron, indicating toward the young boy who was just signaled by the ticket inspector to run at the brick wall.

"Cal!" Finn shouted.

But Callum didn't look back. He pushed his trolley and charged at the wall, and then . . . went through it . . .

"How does it feel to know your younger brother knows more than you, Finn?" Ginny teased.

"Sounds about right," said Finn with a shrug and a good-natured smile.

The ticket inspector signaled to the Golden Trio to make their way through the barrier, and once they'd walked through, Finn, Ginny, and I did the same. Once we were on the other side, I was surprised to find a crowd of people seemingly waiting for us.

There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye, gnarled hands clutching a long staff, and his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubblegum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend _The Weird Sisters_. Next to Tonks was Remus, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. Beside him stood Kleio, and although she was clearly clad in Muggle attire, it looked nearly identical to her wizard robes — a long, flowy deep-colored blouse with a floor-length skirt, and she still wore the crystal around her neck, though her silver hair was pulled into an updo with her scarf instead of simply left to hang around it. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their own Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new lurid green jackets which, judging by the scaly material, appeared to be made of dragon skin.

"Ron, Ginny!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly. "Oh, Harry dear — how are you?" She pulled Harry into her tight embrace next and then made her way to me to do the same. "And you, Demetria, how are you?"

"All right," I said, and I suppose I was . . .

When Mrs. Weasley released me, I rushed over to George who was already waiting with his arms open toward me.

"I'm so sorry, Tri," he told me softly.

I pulled away and Fred solemnly added, "We both are."

"I'll be okay," I assured them with a small smile. "I missed you" — I'd been looking at George when I said that, so Fred gave a purposely loud cough — " _Both of you_."

"I missed you too," said George sincerely.

"I missed you more, Princess," said Fred in jest.

"So what're you all doing here?" I inquired.

"Everyone wanted to give Harry's aunt and uncle a good old shakedown," said George, tossing his head over to where everyone had migrated.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Moody, Remus, and Tonks all appeared to be having a word with the Dursleys. I certainly hoped it was about the way they mistreated Harry. The only person who hadn't joined them was Kleio, and she was making her way toward me now, but was blocked by Finn.

"Hey boys, how's business?" he asked the twins.

"Booming," said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. "How's Umbridge?"

Finn then proceeded to tell the twins all about the pranks everyone pulled on that miserable toad of a woman, and that was when I'd turned back to see the crowd walking away from Harry and the Dursleys. He'd just said goodbye to Ron and Hermione and was starting to leave.

"Harry!" I called out, running over to him.

His rather large uncle did not appear pleased that I'd stopped them, but I didn't care. I pulled Harry into a hug and whispered to him, "Remember to live."

Harry gave me a warm smile when we pulled apart and said, "You too, Demetria. I'll see you soon."

"See you," I said.

This time, when Harry turned to leave, no one stopped him.

I waved goodbye to Moody and gave my hugs and said my goodbyes to Finn, Hermione, Tonks, and all of the present Weasleys, except the twins. When I tried, Fred said, "Not just yet, Dem. We're coming with you."

"Coming with me where?" I asked.

"To Harris Manor," said Remus, appearing beside me. "It's yours now."

I felt my stomach drop. I wasn't sure going back there was something I could do. I knew that seeing that house empty would make Grandad's death real.

"It'll be okay, love," said George, as though reading my mind.

"What about the De —"

"We all tzecked the entire house this morning," said Kleio, standing next to Remus now, "and I placed a Light of Protection Charm around it. There was no one there but a very strange house-elf with enormous eyes —"

"Tinker," I said, suddenly realizing something. "Oh Merlin, does Tinker know?"

"I told him this morning," said Remus. "But come on, we'd best not keep him waiting."

"You won't want to keep our guests waiting either," said Fred, grinning.

"What gue —"

Before I could even finish, the twins had grabbed my arms from either side as we were launched through the sensation of Apparation. When it stopped, we were just outside Harris Manor, grand as I remembered. I hadn't been there since the night I witnessed the murder of Jack Gelling — a name I hadn't thought of in a long time . . .

"So this is the palace?" said Fred in jest. Remus and Kleio Apparated beside the twins with my luggage.

"It's been a long time," I said quietly.

Remus held out his hand to me, and in it sat a long, black skeleton key with the Harris family seal on the end of it.

"I don't want it," I said, voice hollow. "I don't even need it — the house, I mean. I'll be away at school all year, and it's too big for just me —"

I stopped and looked Remus in his green eyes; he smiled and gave me a nod, so I took the key from him and used it to open the front door. As soon as I stepped through the threshold, I felt all of the memories of that night rush back . . . but I also recalled all of the other, much happier, memories. And I hadn't been more than two steps into the mansion when Tinker came rushing toward me.

"Miss Demetria!" he cried gleefully; I lowered myself to the ground so we could hug properly. "It has been so long! Tinker has missed Demetria!"

"I missed you too, Tink," I said, unable to suppress a smile. "Listen, is it all right with you if Remus lives here with us?"

I was sure I already knew what his response would be, and when Tinker went to wrap his arms around Remus's legs, it was confirmed.

"Of course!" he said happily. "Tinker always liked Remus Lupin! Welcome, Remus!"

Remus gave a laugh and said, "Thank you, Tinker."

"Will Miss Demetria's other friends be staying as well?" Tinker asked brightly.

I assumed Tinker was referring to Fred, George, and Kleio, who were all standing behind Remus, but when I went to answer, someone else beat me to it.

"I am afraid not, Tinker. Ve are just visiting."

I whipped around and gasped upon finding my two Bulgarian brothers standing before me now. I rushed in between them and put an arm around each of them, both of them returning the embrace.

"It is great to see you, Demi," said Grigor sincerely.

"It's great to see you too," I said, truly unable to stop smiling now. "Both of you! What're you doing here?"

"Fred and George arranged for us to see you," Viktor explained with a smile of his own.

I looked back at the twins, but before I could even ask, George told me, "We had a bit of help from Kleio — international Apparation and all that." I'd forgotten that was something Kleio was capable of. The thought hadn't even occured to me when she Apparated us all the way from Mykonos to London.

"But the rest was all us!" said Fred proudly.

"Yes, sending the boys an owl truly was the hard part," drawled Kleio.

"Thank you," I told the three of them whole-heartedly.

"Demetria, ve are so sorry to hear about your dyado," said Viktor solemnly. _**(grandfather)**_

"Tinker cannot believe Master Carlisle is gone," said Tinker dismally.

"Neither can I," I said quietly.

Silence passed between everyone for a few moments, until Tinker spoke up.

"Will Miss Demetria sing?" he said hopefully. "The song Miss Demetria and Master Carlisle used to sing when Miss learned to play the piano?"

I looked into the drawing room and saw the dusty, grand piano off in the corner.

"I dunno, Tink —"

"Come on, Demi," said Grigor heartily.

I look a glance at the others who were all giving me the same encouraging expression, and then gestured for Tinker to follow me into the drawing room. He plastered a huge grin across his face and rushed ahead of me to the piano bench. The rest of us followed him and I took a seat beside him, folding up the fallboard and placing my hands on the keys which hadn't been touched (at least by me) in quite some time.

"Did Miss Demetria forget?" Tinker asked in reference to my hesitance.

"No . . . I could never," I assured him, giving Tinker a small smile which he mirrored.

I then turned my attention back to the keys, and this time, my hands started to move across them. In a moment, I started to sing softly.

 _In the quiet misty morning_

 _When the moon has gone to bed,_

 _When the sparrows stop their singing_

 _And the sky is clear and red,_

 _When the summer's ceased it's gleaming_

 _When the corn is past its prime,_

 _When adventure's lost its meaning -_

 _I'll be homeward bound in time_

 _Bind me not to the pasture_

 _Chain me not to the plow_

 _Set me free to find my calling_

 _And I'll return to you somehow_

I felt myself transported back to the days when Grandad and I played the song together, but he would only hum; he said I was a better singer. I pretended he was sitting beside me on the bench.

 _If you find it's me you're missing_

 _If you're hoping I'll return,_

 _To your thoughts I'll soon be listening,_

 _And in the road I'll stop and turn._

 _Then the wind will set me racing_

 _As my journey nears its end,_

 _And the path I'll be retracing_

 _When I'm homeward bound again._

 _Bind me not to the pasture_

 _Chain me not to the plow_

 _Set me free to find my calling_

 _And I'll return to you somehow_

I was about to stop singing, feeling my throat closing up, but George was suddenly looking down at me from beside the piano, smiling. Tinker placed his small hand on my arm, and I continued.

 _In the quiet misty morning_

 _When the moon has gone to bed,_

 _When the sparrows stop their singing_

 _I'll be homeward bound again._

* * *

 _And thus, the sequel ends! Thank you so much to all of my supporters! You guys are the motivation I need to keep writing and keep posting. I'm currently working on the third installment in this series, so stay tuned!_


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